


Domina Esques

by shuofthewind



Series: Pugna Pro Insons Insontis [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/M, Gen, Historical References, Steampunk, Underage Prostitution, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 215,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/pseuds/shuofthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, The Lady Knight. At sixteen, Lizzy Middleford has been on a tour of the continent for a year. Now, she's a different, sharper person than before...and she's determined to take her place at Ciel's side, whether he likes it or not. All hail the Queen's Paladin. Co-posted on FFnet. Part One of the Pugna Pro Insons Insontis Duology. Sequel upcoming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Fiancée, Frightened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Domina Esques, or, The Lady Knight.  
> Author: Shu of the Wind.  
> Rating: T.
> 
> Summary: At sixteen, Lizzy Middleford has been on a tour of the continent for a year, and has returned a different, sharper person than before...and she's determined to take her place at Ciel's side, whether he likes it or not. All hail the Queen's Paladin.
> 
> Disclaimer: Applies for all chapters. I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or any of its characters; they belong to Yana Toboso.

The carriage was rattling dreadfully, and it was disturbing her hat. Lizzy put her hand up to her head, steadying the little cap absently with two gloved fingers, and sighed. The idea of visiting Ciel had always been a pleasant one, but now, she would much rather be at home in bed than attempting not to irritate her prickly and distant fiancé.

Of course, it wasn't Ciel's fault that she had been awake until dawn, unable to sleep. That had been all her. She'd been so tired after the return voyage that it had been nearly impossible for her to even close her eyes. And now her hat was pinned too close to her skull and pinching her scalp, and the carriage driver seemed bound and determined to find every single rut in the long road between London and the Phantomhive Estate, and she'd already caught herself dozing twice, despite all the rattling. It had been a miracle her mother hadn't noticed yet.

On the other side of the carriage, Mama let out a sharp, irritable breath, and prodded Lizzy's knee with the end of her parasol. "Sit up straight, Elizabeth, for goodness sake. You weren't raised in a barn, girl."

She felt the tips of her ears go hot. She straightened her spine, and lowered her hand, ignoring the way the hat was tugging at her hair. "Yes, Mama."

Edward sent her half a smile, and took her hand in his. Lizzy squeezed his fingers, and relaxed a bit. Edward was here. He was away so often now, on business, that she rarely ever saw him anymore, even before she'd gone on her tour. Once she married Ciel she would probably see him even less, though that was a long time coming still. They were only marrying once Ciel was eighteen, after all, and that was three years off.

 _He's fifteen, now_. It had been his birthday two months ago. She'd been abroad with Papa for the past year, and hadn't been able to celebrate with him. She'd sent him a gift, of course, but she hadn't heard from him since she'd returned; she didn't know if he'd received it or not.

She wondered how much taller he'd grown. She'd worn her flat shoes, the way she always did when she knew she'd be seeing him. She'd been growing like a weed, though; now she was nearly five foot eight, obnoxiously tall for any woman, and anxiety was prickling through her.  _If I'm taller than he is…_

 _Oh, stop it._  This was precisely why Papa had brought her along with him on his tour of Europe.  _You're bright and beautiful, Lizzy, just like a sword being forged. Now we just need to put an edge on you._

It had been Mama's idea, she was certain. She'd cried so hard and made such a racket when she'd heard that she wouldn't see Ciel for a full year that her governess had nearly boxed her ears.

 _When we marry, he will be eighteen. And I will be nineteen,_  she added to herself, and frowned at that. Really, as a wife, shouldn't she be a bit younger than her husband, rather than the other way around? She knew it wasn't her fault or Ciel's that she was the elder, but it was rather aggravating sometimes.

 _An edge, Lizzy, an edge. Stop acting like a child._  Besides, many of her friends were older than their husbands. People married according to rank and availability, not age or beauty or love.

Not one of her friends was marrying for love.

"You look solemn, Elizabeth,” Mama said, and Lizzy snapped out of her reverie. "Are you quite all right? I didn't raise you to be quite so dour. As I recall, the last time you visited the Phantomhive Estate, it was impossible to get you to be quiet."

She blushed again. "No…it's just different than I remember."

But it wasn't, really. The trees and the bushes were bigger, certainly, but they were trimmed just the same. As they crunched up the drive, she caught a glimpse of Finny drooping on one of the benches, his straw hat as well tended as always. He lifted his head and watched the carriage go by; his eyes met hers. Finny leaped to his feet, waved, and then took off towards the house, and Lizzy wondered if he'd been set out as a watchdog, rather than as a gardener. Lizzy clasped her hands in her lap, and worried away the hem of her glove between two fingers. She was anxious in spite of herself, in spite of everything she'd told herself she wouldn't do: get anxious, be fidgety, be clingy, be…well. Who she was. Or had been. She was different than she'd been at fourteen, she just wasn't sure  _how_  different, and wouldn't be until she saw Ciel.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and the door opened; she caught a glimpse of silver hair in the February sun. She couldn't help it; ignoring her mother's irritated tutting, she took Snake's hand and let him help her down out of the carriage. He looked anxious, as always, but she squeezed his fingers once before letting go, and let herself smile a bit. Improper to treat a footman that way, but none of the servants at Ciel's home had ever really been servants to her, not the way that Barrow was. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

He blinked, and then a shy smile found his face. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Says Oscar,” he added quickly, looking nervous, and one of his snakes poked its head up out of his collar. She wondered where the others were; taking care of the garden where Finny couldn't, perhaps, or living in the cellar to ward off mice. Snakes were actually quite useful, now that she thought about it. She'd never considered it before.

Edward came down next, and then her mother, and Snake turned prim and steady with her, though she could see Mama's eyes glint at the sight of his shaggy hair. Papa had stayed home; he'd been summoned to meet with the Queen, and had had to beg off of the visit, despite his own objections. "After all," he'd said, "I'd much rather see my adorable nephew than the Queen."

That had earned him a smack from Mama, of course.  _No one_ surpassed the Queen. Not in the opinion of one Frances Middleford.

Barrow smacked the horses into a trot, and headed for the stables around the other side of the manorhouse. Lizzy fought the urge to trail after him; Beatrice would be wanting attention after a long haul like the journey to the Phantomhive Estate. But the mare would be fine, she reasoned. Barrow was a born horseman. She couldn't think of better hands to leave her in.

It was all just the same on the inside. Well, almost. There was a painting where the portrait of Uncle Vincent and Aunt Rachel had been, one of Ciel, and she couldn't help it; she kept her eyes on it as the rest of her family filtered in behind her. He didn't look much different than her memories. It had probably been done a little after she'd left. He would be taller than that, she reasoned, and he would be losing the childish round shape to his face.

Sebastian had combed his hair back. Remembering the last time she had visited with her mother, Lizzy couldn't blame him. It was an image she would rather forget, honestly. He bowed to them, hand on his heart. "Marchioness Middleford, Mr. Edward, Miss Elizabeth. Welcome back."

Mama sniffed, but let him take her wrap. She could, apparently, find no fault with his appearance. "And where is your master, Sebastian? I trust he's here."

"He is in the library, my lady, finishing some papers. He will be downstairs momentarily." He took Edward's hat and overcoat as well, and draped them over his arm. "He begs your forgiveness for not being in the hall to receive you."

"You're slipping, Sebastian. If there's one thing my nephew  _doesn't_  do, it would be to beg forgiveness for anything he does."

Sebastian smiled a bit, and angled his head forward in the slightest of acknowledgments. "I will escort you to the drawing room, my lady, Mr. Middleford, Miss Elizabeth."

That was the same as she remembered too, with the deep crimson couches, shining wooden tables, and the brocade curtains. Lizzy waited until her mother had settled on one of the loveseats before taking the chair nearest the window, relieved that she'd worn the green. She didn't want to fade into the furniture.

Sebastian vanished for a few minutes, and then returned with a pot of tea (Darjeeling, if she wasn't much mistaken) and a plate of what looked like biscuits, and vanished a second time. She felt her stomach clench. She hadn't eaten much over the past few days. She and Papa had only returned the day before yesterday, and sea travel had always turned her stomach, ever since the  _Campania_. So while her brother took one, politely, she accepted a cup of strong tea and hoped that would tide her over until dinner. They would be here for a day or two, after all, according to Mama. She should, hopefully, be eating again by the time they left.

A few days in Phantomhive Manor. She wasn't sure she could handle that.

Lizzy set her teacup down and stood, turning to the window. It was really quite beautiful outside; February frost coated most of the plants, making them sparkle in the weak sunlight. Outside, she saw Snake and Finny talking; Finny was gesticulating wildly, and Snake was laughing, for once looking carefree. She fought a smile of her own, and crushed a fold of her skirt in one hand. They, at least, were happy enough. She wondered where Maylene and Bard were, if they were spying from the crack in the doorway. She wouldn't be surprised.

" _There_ you are, boy,” Mama said loudly, and Lizzy stiffened. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe.  _What will he be like? What will he think of me? Drat. An edge, remember your edge._  And she took a breath, and realized it wasn't so difficult after all. It was only Ciel, for God's sake, only Ciel. "I hope you have a better excuse for your tardiness than Sebastian did. Paperwork? I've never known you to do paperwork in your life."

"Good afternoon, Aunt Middleford." His voice was deeper, she realized, and felt stupid for not remembering that he would be grown-up now. Of course his voice would be deeper. It was still light, though, and laced with sarcasm. "Wonderful to see you. You haven't changed at all, you know."

Mama sputtered a bit, and Lizzy wondered if she had That Look on her face, the one that said she was trying to figure out if she'd just been complimented or insulted.

"Watch it, Phantomhive."

"Cousin Edward,” Ciel added. That was all he had to say for Edward to clench his fists and crack his knuckles. Lizzy moved automatically, putting a hand on her brother's arm in warning; he glanced at her.

"Lizzy…"

"Don't be cross, Ed, Ciel's only teasing."

Edward gritted his teeth, but said nothing more about it; he bowed, sharply. "Lord Phantomhive."

He was wearing black, she noticed, but she still hadn't looked at his face. She couldn't tell, through her bangs, whether or not he was taller than her. Now that the time had come to greet him, she felt oddly calm, at peace. Her heart wasn't even pounding. Lizzy moved away from her brother, and curtsied alongside him. "Ciel."

"Lizzy," he said, and he sounded slightly surprised. Maybe because she hadn't attacked him with an embrace? "I wasn't aware you were back from the continent."

"I returned the day before yesterday." She straightened, and gave him a sunny smile "It's wonderful to see you again, Ciel."

"Ah…" He blinked once. "Yes."

He looked…different, she realized, studying him. She hadn't thought much about exactly what he would look like, only that he would probably be different, just like she was, and that had been the end of it. She was sure she looked different, too, though the last photograph of herself that she could study had been taken when she was twelve, and of course she was different in four years time. She wasn't sure how she was different than Ciel's memories of her, however, and she wondered if she would get a chance to ask him. Or if that would be acceptable. She doubted it would be.

He’d changed, of course. His hair was a bit longer. Still shaggy, she thought, though it was difficult to tell considering he'd brushed it back like Sebastian had. His face was thinner, too; he was lithe now, instead of skinny, and less awkward than he had been before. Ciel seemed to have finally grown into the stiff, caustic formality he'd always tried to force himself into a year ago.

His hands were the same, pale with long fingers. She'd always thought he had a pianist's hands, but had never dared to say so. She knew he played the violin because Uncle Vincent had played it, after all. And his eyes were the same, one covered by that formal patch, the other large and sapphire blue.

She wasn't sure if what he had could be called 'handsomeness'; there had always been an edge to it that had made him prettier than that, some aspect of Aunt Rachel that would have made him a beautiful girl. No wonder she'd always wanted to dress him up in frills and fine fabrics when they'd both been children; he had the face for it. It was sharper, now, that beauty, chillier and maybe a bit more regal than it had been before, with a rough side to it that made it impossible for anyone to really mistake him for a woman.

 _He still looks young_ , she realized, watching him. He would always look young, no matter how ancient the look in his eye had become. Because that look  _was_  old. So terribly, terribly old.

There were other things, but she would have more time to observe them later. She would have a great deal of time to observe him, she realized, and wondered why the back of her neck felt hot at the idea. Or, well, she knew why the back of her neck felt hot, but it shouldn't and it made her even more embarrassed.

Ciel and Mama finished the courtesies (i.e. sniping at one another under the pretense of exchanging greetings), and then he waved at Sebastian; Sebastian opened the door, and bowed. "My lady marchioness, there is a new pavilion being built on the south lawn; the young master thought it might be advisable to get your opinion on its construction."

Mama straightened, and shot a suspicious look at Ciel. "…really."

"Of course, Aunt Middleford,” Ciel said, with one of his secret smiles. "Shall we all go? It would be better than waiting around for one of the idiots downstairs to break a vase."

It was said affectionately. Or, at least, she hoped it was. Lizzy watched his back as they followed him downstairs again, her hand tucked into the crook of her brother's elbow, and wondered why she was less excited. Perhaps she was in shock? It would describe the numb buzzing inside her skull quite well.

They were almost even, she thought, and relaxed a bit. She was maybe an inch taller than him still. If she stopped growing…boys grew for a longer time than girls did. So if she stopped, then maybe he would finally be taller than she was.

The pavilion on the lawn was not 'being built' by any stretch of the word; it was pretty much already finished, and only wanted a coat of paint and maybe some floorboards. Her mother circled it anyway, and began to lecture Sebastian and Ciel on what flowers should be planted around it. "Roses," she said, propping her hands on her hips and surveying it like the manager of the whole estate. "I should think roses. Red roses."

 _Red and white_ , Lizzy corrected her silently, and fingered her halfpenny (and well-thumbed) copy of  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ in her skirt pocket. White roses painted red. But she said nothing about it. There was no point; Mama had already moved on to the color of the pavilion (green, though Lizzy thought it should be ivory) and the smaller flowerbeds that would be set up around it. In spite of herself, Lizzy drifted away, down towards the bridge.

A month or two before Uncle Vincent and Aunt Rachel had been murdered, she remembered Aunt Rachel whispering to her that the bridge was where Uncle Vincent had proposed, when he'd been twenty and she'd been seventeen. It had been a terribly romantic story; she could barely remember any of it now. It was all overshadowed by Aunt Rachel and Uncle Vincent's murder and Ciel's disappearance.

Lizzy peeled her gloves off, shoved them into her pocket, and wrapped her hands around the guardrail. The wood was smooth under her fingers; she wondered if someone had come along to sand it. The last time she'd been here just touching it had given her half a dozen splinters.

It was the first time in a week, she realized, that she had been alone. Well, relatively alone. She had been traveling with her father and her companion, Mrs. Bancroft; then home, and she hadn't been able to sleep, so she'd gone down to the kitchen and sat there with the cook until it was time to go back upstairs and pretend she'd been asleep all that time.  _Better than tossing and turning all night long, after all._  And during the trip she'd been sharing her room with Mrs. Bancroft most of the time; in hotels and train compartments and cabins in boats. She'd only been able to glean a moment or two, here and there, to herself: in a  _salon_ in Paris, for example, or those two hours in Venice when she'd been lost and never felt more alive. Papa had scolded her soundly for wandering off, but she had no regrets.

She wore the bracelet she'd bought during that little outing even now, hidden under her glove. She doubted Mama would approve of it; it didn't match her dress, firstly, and secondly, it was rather common, not even made of a precious metal, but braided twine around her wrist with a string of Italian lira woven into it. She liked it, though. It was so totally unlike anything she could get in England.

She ran a fingertip along the coins, watched the little trickling stream (when she'd been small, she'd thought it was a river as big as the Thames; of course, at that point, she'd never seen the Thames), and let out a shaky breath. Maybe now she wasn't quite so numb. She was starting to feel again, tingling sensations in her hands and feet.

 _I'm back_ , she thought, and glanced, in spite of herself, back at the others. Mama and Edward were still crawling all over the pavilion, grateful to have something to lambast Ciel about; out of the corner of her eye she could see the black-clothed figure of Sebastian, standing just behind Ciel, leaning forward to say something to his master. They were both standing apart, the way they always seemed to. Ciel always stood apart, whether he intended to or not. He was the Queen's Watchdog, after all.

_And when we're married, will he stand apart from me?_

Something burned in her chest. Her life was coming back to her. She'd seen Ciel, and all had gone well. She'd seen Ciel, spoken to Ciel, missed him so much over the past year that at times she hadn't been able to breathe, and she hadn't reacted much at all. She had been in shock, and now she was coming out of it; she flexed her fingers and wondered how long her heart had been beating quite that fast.

She needed to fence. That was the only way to get this buzzing out of her limbs. She'd been practicing with Papa the whole trip long, ignoring Cecily's shocked squawking. Abruptly, she wished she had a sword in her hand right now. It would make her steadier. Give her a rock to ground herself on. She was floating in the updraft of a wind, now, caught between the sky and the earth.

They would be married once he turned eighteen. She'd known that for years. But now she stood on her aunt's favorite bridge and looked up at Phantomhive Manor, and she  _felt_ it. Sooner rather than later, she would be living here. Sooner rather than later, she wouldn't be Miss Elizabeth Middleford any longer; she'd be the Countess Phantomhive. The thought of living here, forever…relief swept through her. She knew this place, knew every inch of it, every blade of grass. Moving to the Manor…it would be like coming home.

_So why am I so scared?_

She stood there, lost in thought, for quite a long time. She didn't notice the others trooping back up towards the house, and they didn't notice she was missing. Well, almost all of them didn't notice.

"Lady Elizabeth."

Lizzy jumped, and clutched at her gloves. It was Sebastian. He bowed again, and his hair fell forward into his face. "It is time for afternoon tea, Miss Elizabeth."

"Is it?" She blinked, and checked her watch. It was nearly four o'clock. They'd arrived at around noon. She frowned a bit, in spite of herself.  _And it took them that long to notice that I was gone?_

Well, perhaps they'd assumed she'd gone to check on Beatrice. She'd been shifty enough, after all. Maybe she should have; her poor horse would be panicked by now. Beatrice was flighty and irresponsible and everything that a good horse probably shouldn't be, but she'd bought Beatrice herself, with her own money that she'd inherited when Grandpapa died, and she was a dream to gallop on. She'd figured that out on the Spanish plains. So the horse had become a permanent staple; where Elizabeth went, so did Beatrice. Papa had shaken his head and laughed at her, especially after Beatrice had thrown him.

 _My horse picks her people._  Lizzy thought, and fought a smile.

"I'll be up in a minute," she said, and turned back to the stream. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian straighten, and watch her for a moment; then he bowed again and swept away, and she slowly loosened her hands. Her gloves were all crumpled. Mama would notice, definitely.

She was scared. That was what this trembling in her limbs was. She hadn't recognized it until now because it had been so long since she'd been truly scared about anything. She'd been scared of Ciel rejecting her fierce side —  _not just a side now, not at all_  — on the  _Campania_. That was the last time she could remember being truly terrified of anything.

Now she was scared.

She picked a pebble up from the riverbank, fingered it for a moment, and then threw it into the stream. It vanished into the silt, hidden under ripples. Then she closed her eyes, drew a breath, and began to build the image she'd cherished of Ciel in her mind's eye. Slender. Short. Dressed impeccably, as always. His face round, his visible eye hidden behind long bangs and long lashes. That ring on his thumb, the only finger on either hand that would hold it. The Ciel she'd seen an hour ago was so much different, but the same in some ways; he still had longer lashes than she did, and his hair would still dangle in his eyes if he took it out of the small ponytail that he was keeping it in. But the ring was on his middle finger, now; she'd seen it gleaming there. The ring she'd thought she broken.  _He must have found it and had it reset._  She thought, and leaned on the railing again.

_Is he even the same person anymore?_

The look in his eye had been colder.

_Am I?_

As the water began to still, she finally said it aloud. "I'm back, Aunt Rachel. Now what do I do?"

The stream had no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Defending the Sky, a oneshot I wrote ages ago. That will also eventually be uploaded to AO3.  
> Originally posted on FFnet.   
> I am the same author.  
> I should have the entirety of it posted by the end of the week, as it is already complete.  
> For the Latinites--I am actually aware that the title is a misspelling. For those who don't know Latin, the actual direct translation of "the Lady Knight" would be "Domina Eques"; I hit the "s" key by accident when I was typing it and did not actually realize it was a typo since it's been ages since I took Latin. 
> 
> Sadly, I can't actually fix the misspelling, simply because the story is well-known enough as Domina Esques that it's impossible for me to change it at this late date. 
> 
> Rest assured I do know there's a problem.


	2. His Fiancée, Cautious

"Hey, hey, Finny, did you see? Miss Elizabeth is back!"

Lizzy paused behind her horse, wondering if Maylene knew that she could hear every word the maid was saying. She doubted it; Maylene's glasses were exactly the same as when she'd left, and the maid had only been able to tell Lizzy from Ciel because of their hair color then. And possibly height. She bit back laughter, and resumed currying Beatrice. The mare leaned into the motion, her eyes half-closing, providing the perfect shield. She doubted even Finny knew she was in here. It was just past dawn, after all; the rest of the house was still asleep.

(She had, of course, left a message for Mama, letting her know that she was going riding and may not be back for a while. Sebastian had taken the message for her. She doubted that man ever slept.)

"I saw her yesterday too, Maylene!" Finny said, sounding cross. "I was the one who told you they'd arrived, remember?"

"Oh…" Maylene colored. "Right." Then she brightened again. "Is she beautiful now? Miss Elizabeth? I don't know, I didn't see her face very well and she's taller now so I wasn't sure if I was looking at the marchioness or not—"

Oh. She hadn't even thought of Maylene mixing her up with Mama. For some reason, this made her glow with pleasure.

"She's…sharper, I suppose," Finny said, and scratched his cheek. "Her hair's all bound up now, I don't like it. And she's rounder."

"Rounder?"

He made an hourglass shape with his hands in the air, and in spite of herself, Lizzy blushed.  _I knew that corset was a bad idea._ That had been the one she usually used for Official Business _,_ the one that gave her more of a figure than she actually had; it had been Cecily's choice. "Rounder."

Maylene squawked. "F-F-Finny, that's rude! You don't talk about a lady that way!"

"Why not?  _You're_  round too, and you don't mind if I say so."

There was a yelp, and then a snort from one of the horses. From what she could tell, Maylene had gone to smack Finny, and had hit one of the stalls instead. She whimpered, turned bright red, sputtered for a moment, turned redder, and then bolted from the stable. Finny stood there tilting his head curiously; he scratched his neck, then shrugged, finished feeding the horses, and left. Lizzy tossed the curry comb back into the tack box before leading Beatrice out of the stall to tack her up. She'd asked Barrow to bring her saddle and everything, just in case.

She'd slept the night through, miraculously. She thought Mama might have had Sebastian slip laudanum in her tea, though she hadn't tasted anything funny, because as soon as dinner had been over, a wave of exhaustion had nearly had her pillowing her head on the table and falling asleep right there. Phillips, her mother's maid, had escorted her to bed. Thankfully, Mrs. Bancroft had remained behind at the Middleford townhouse; Lizzy wasn't sure she would have been able to deal with the housekeeper's poking and prodding and pointed questions and endless chatter. She'd tolerated the older woman for a year already; she'd been ecstatic when Mama's penchant for penny-pinching, and only bringing  _one_ maid along instead of two, had won out.

Beatrice was surprisingly submissive this morning; she only swerved once, and that was on the way down the lawn towards the pavilion. Dawn had broken maybe half an hour before, and she could see her breath in front of her face, fogging up her vision. She could see the edges of the lake from here; the boathouse was well-tended, but barren. It looked like no one had gone there in months. Beyond that, she knew, were the ruins of the old Phantomhive manor; it was partially hidden behind some well-placed trees and the swell of the hill. She cast a look back over her shoulder at the sleeping manor, and then urged Beatrice forward.

It reminded her of an old ruined castle she and Papa had explored on a trip to Scotland when she'd been twelve. Stone and crumbling mortar stood in spikes like finger bones, laced over with frosty ivy, cracking with the weather. It was unseasonably warm for February, despite the frost; if she'd come a month ago she was certain she'd have been trotting through snow. But now it was clean, if a bit silvery, and Beatrice was leaving U-shaped prints in the grass. It crackled when she put her weight on it.

Most of the building was gone. The outside walls were the only things that really remained; the columns that had framed the front door had been taken down and used in the rebuilt manor, the only part of the building that hadn't really been affected by the flames. The front stairs were gone too. There were stone outlines of rooms that she remembered. If she wanted, she could trace out every single room. After all, the new manor was an exact copy of the old.  _Here is the library. Here is the dining room. Here is the kitchen and the pantry and the cloakroom where I left my favorite mink-lined cape that Mama gave me for my thirteenth birthday._  It had burned in the fire.

It wasn't much of a challenge to get over the remnants of the walls between rooms; it was, after all, only the stone layout that was left. Beatrice didn't even have to lift her feet very high. They stepped through the library, and Lizzy loosened her grip on the reins, letting the mare have her head. The horse brightened immediately, and picked up in speed, though she didn't let the mare canter until they were out of the ruins and back on firm ground again.

It was nearly seven-thirty by the time she'd stumbled, breathless, back into the manor. Her hair had come undone on a particularly wild altercation with one of Finny's carefully trimmed bushes; Beatrice had jumped it, despite Lizzy's urging her not to, and it had blown her hat off her head. She hadn't had time to see where it landed. She'd stolen Edward's trousers (they were almost the same height now, after all) and after coming off once, they were smeared with grass stains. She'd have to hide them in the bottom of her trunk until they returned home and she could get them washed without comment. After all, Mama would be scandalized if she knew that Lizzy had gone riding in little more than trousers, a hunting jacket she'd filched from Papa's closet, and one of her brother's shirts. (Edward lost or wore out more clothes in a year than Lizzy would own in a lifetime. She doubted he even noticed they were gone.)

 _Papa wouldn't mind._  She thought sourly, and then squashed it. That kind of argument wouldn't work on Mama. Except for her fencing and her horsemanship (properly garbed horsemanship), Frances Middleton wanted a perfectly amiable, perfectly courteous, perfectly womanly, perfectly perfect daughter, at ease in society.

Well, at least she was at ease in society.

"Lizzy, is that you?"

Instant panic. She ducked automatically, and then realized that was pointless. It wasn't Mama's voice, thank God, nor Edward's (though she rather suspected Edward would be more amused than offended or shocked) but it wasn't one she recognized either. Then she ran through it again and realized she  _did_  know it, it had just changed a great deal in a year. Ciel had a book in one hand, perfectly dressed despite the earliness of the hour; he cocked his head quizzically at her. She fought back her instant embarrassment— _I'm not fourteen anymore_ —and stepped behind the banister so her legs were hidden by wood. Either way, it was highly improper. "Good morning, Ciel. I was just out riding."

"Oh." He hesitated, and an awkward silence rolled out between them like a carpet. She worried the inside of her cheek for a moment, and then said, "It was wonderful outside. It's very crisp. And if I don't take my horse out at least once every two days, she gets anxious."  _And you're babbling, Elizabeth. Get. To. Your. Room. Now._

"I see." He closed his book, and weighed it in both hands. She couldn't see what it was from here, but it had a dark cover, and it looked like heavy reading. "I didn't know you rode."

"I didn't, really. Not last year." After all, she hadn't wanted to be any less cute than she already was, so she'd complained every time she'd had to get on a horse. Now she was doing of her own free will. She raked her hand through her hair, bobbed a bit, and said, "I should go change for breakfast."

"Oh. Of course." He turned, and then twisted his head a bit, so he could still see her. "I'll probably be late, if nobody minds."

Clearly, it wasn't going to matter if anybody minded. Lizzy nodded, and waited until he'd vanished into the library again before bolting for her room and slamming the door shut behind her. She sagged against it for a moment, covered her face with one hand, and breathed. That had been improper.  _Highly_  improper. If she'd moved more than an inch, he would have been able to see her legs. Oh, Lord, what if he'd seen her on her way inside? Mama would be  _furious_  if she learned about it. She'd be furious enough to  _spit_.

Lizzy laughed dizzily, locked up her riding clothes in the bottom drawer of the dresser, crawled back into bed, and then rang for Phillips.

It was Maylene who ended up answering. It was wonderful to talk to the maid again; it felt like a lifetime had passed since she'd last spent any time with Maylene. The woman had always loved to take care of her, despite her sight issues. Lizzy let Maylene brush her hair (biting back a wince when she tugged through a knot) and switched her skirt with the bright orange one that Maylene dragged out of the closet with a softer, darker blue one, and made sure that her shoes matched before putting them on. Then she sent Maylene out, and pulled on the matching jacket before redoing her hair in a long braid, pinning it up (something she'd always refused to let anyone else do for her), and heading downstairs to join the others for breakfast.

"There you are, Elizabeth. Did you sleep well?" Mama looked up from her morning tea; there was another mug beside her plate of sausage and eggs. The sausage was well cooked, and the fried tomatoes smelled divine; she settled at the table, and Sebastian floated over to her to take requests. Clearly it was his work and not Bard's; she doubted Bard was allowed anywhere near the kitchen when there were guests in the house. "You seem much better than you were yesterday, dear, even if you  _are_  late to breakfast."

It was nearly eight-thirty. Fixing up after Maylene left had taken longer than she'd thought. She shot a look at Sebastian as he set her plate in front of her. The butler set a finger to his lips. He hadn't told Mama about the morning ride. She relaxed a bit, and smiled at her mother. "I slept very well, Mama, thank you for asking. Where's Ed?"

"He was called back to London very early this morning. He doesn't know when he'll be able to return."

He must have taken one of the horses back, because the carriage was still in the carriage house. "Oh."  _He could have at least said goodbye_. "What sort of business?"

"He didn't say. He left us the carriage, but your father may have to come down with another horse. That mare you brought with you can't pull the thing all on its own." She sent a look at Sebastian. "Unless, of course, my nephew can offer some solution?"

"We will, of course, assist you to the best of our ability, my lady marchioness,” Sebastian said, and retreated, vanishing out the door. Snake, who had been left to supervise the dining room, immediately became a wallflower, waiting for someone to call on him.

Lizzy sipped her tea. There was a look in Mama's eyes that meant she was plotting something. When Mama plotted, it was best to just wait her out.

Sure enough, it only took five minutes of silence before Mama said, "Are you glad to be back in England, dear?"

"There's no place like home,” Lizzy said diplomatically, though she wasn't sure she was telling the truth there. She'd loved Italy, Venice in particular, where she'd snatched those two hours of freedom. "It's nice not to be traveling all the time, though."

"I can imagine. I remember traveling with your father to Constantinople once, before Edward was born. It was a wonderful place, I adored it, but the journey there and back was exhausting."

"Yes."

Silence for a moment.

"Did you practice your fencing while you were away, Elizabeth?" Mama asked warily, waiting for a screeching reaction. Lizzy took another sip of her tea before replying.

"It went well enough. I practiced with Papa as often as we could."

Mama blinked. And blinked again. "…I see."

"I think you would be proud of me, Mama. I am getting quite good."

Mama had to work her throat for a few minutes before she could continue; her smile, when it came, was tentative, as though she was waiting for Lizzy to jump up and say, 'That's a joke, and you fell for it, what a silly old woman you are, Mama.' "That's wonderful, Elizabeth."

Lizzy smiled at her, and returned to her fried tomatoes.

Ciel never showed up to breakfast. Somehow, Lizzy wasn't surprised. Mama, on the other hand, was steaming about it; she shifted from discussing Constantinople to coffee to Ciel, all in quick succession, and asked Snake to go find him as soon as possible. Snake looked anxious at the thought. "Master Ciel has asked not to be disturbed, my lady. Says Dante," he said, and Lizzy saw him flick a panicked glance at her. She could understand that feeling. Facing down Lady Frances Middleford in a fit of pique was something she wouldn't wish on anyone.

Of course Mama caught it. The calculating look came back again. "Elizabeth, why don't you draw him out of his lair? He'll listen to you. Well, probably."

"Mama—"

"Do you know where he is?" Mama asked Snake. Snake hesitated, and then straightened again.

"I apologize, my lady marchioness, but he's specifically asked not to be disturbed. He is in an emergency meeting at the moment about a business venture which cannot be interrupted by anyone."

Lizzy blinked. For once, Snake hadn’t mentioned one of his pets. _It must be serious, then._ Snake put a hand to his collar, where a viper had curled around his throat, and said nothing more. Mama, to her surprise, backed off. The calculating look was still there, however; she crossed her arms over her chest, and said, "Very well. But I would like to see him as soon as he finishes his meeting."

"I will let him know, my lady marchioness. Says Wilde."

"Elizabeth, shall we go to the drawing room? I have a feeling it will be a while before we can see young Ciel, and until then, I would like to hear everything possible about your trip."

"Y-You would?"

"Of course, my dear, I would have asked you before if you hadn't looked so serious all the time."

"Oh."

"And then I'd like to see just how good you've become with the blade, my dear," she said, and tucked her arm through Lizzy's. "We'll go to the hall after our little talk, I think. You brought your uniform and blades with you, I trust?"

Lizzy felt her mouth go a bit dry at the wolfish expression on her mother's face, and forced another smile.

"Of course, Mama."

* * *

 

She lost, of course. Out of all of the Middlefords, Mama was the best at the blade. She lasted longer than she had before she'd left, but she still lost, and fast enough that it gave her a good smack up the side of the head, one that she'd needed. And then she went back to coaching, and it erased the awkwardness that had been lingering since Lizzy had come off the boat and greeted her mother with a curtsy and a kiss on the cheek rather than a galloping hug.

They worked with one sword, first, and then two. Mama nodded in approval after an hour or two of  _that_ , and excused herself to dress for tea. Lizzy stayed standing straight and smiling until the door had shut behind her mother; then her knees had given out, and she'd hit the floor. Lizzy almost dropped her épées then, and set her hands on floor, panting hard. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, wisping out of the tight braid she'd bound it up in; the back of her shirt was soaked through with sweat. She'd been working hard to fight Papa all this time, but she'd forgotten how arduous it could be to spar with her mother.

And Mama hadn't even broken a real sweat. This was the most irritating thing.

Lizzy sat back on her heels, leaning her head back to crack her neck, and then let out a long breath. She'd always forgotten there was a fencing hall in the Phantomhive Manor; she'd never really visited it before now, after all. It wasn't a wide room, but it was long and pale, with many windows. Fresh thin sunlight streamed through them. It was chillier than the rest of the house, too, but she wouldn't be able to feel that for a while.

It probably ran down the whole eastern length of the building, now that she thought about it, behind all the rooms she usually visited. That was where the doors led to, she supposed. To the billiards room and the morning room and the library.

The library. Ciel was having his meeting in the library, wasn't he? She rubbed her palms against the rough fabric of her fencing uniform, and then quaked to her feet, collecting her épées and returning them to their proper place. If Ciel was still in his meeting, then it would be rude for her to knock on the door. She didn't want to interrupt anything, after all.

There was a bang, and the lilt of raised voices. Then sound died again, a quick curling death, and she worried her lip.  _You're not honestly considering this, Lizzy. You're not. The best thing to do would be to walk away now. It's his business, not your business, and it won't be your business for three years yet, and even then it might never be your business._

She glanced at the door to the main hall one last time—no one was coming—and then, slowly but surely, twisted the knob of the library door and pushed it open, the slightest crack. She could see nothing—the library side of the door was hidden behind a heavy curtain, after all—but suddenly the voices were much clearer.

"—no point to this argument." That was Ciel, she thought, though it was difficult to tell through the muffling effect of the curtain. "The Portuguese revolution is not our concern, Lau."

"Oh, I know." That cheerful voice, that name…she vaguely remembered meeting a Chinese gentleman with that name, a few years ago now at a party held by the Viscount Aleister Chamber, but she hadn't been aware that Ciel knew him. Or that he was in business with him. She wrinkled her nose.  _A year away, a year of work, a year of studying and learning and training and there's_ still _so much I don't know._ "I just love your grumpy face when I bring it up, my lord."

A sputtering noise, like a wet kettle put on a stove. Then a breath, drawn in and held. "Lau."

"Yes?"

"Regardless of the Portuguese,  _you_  are the one with the most ties with the opium trade. Deal with it."

"Well, of course." A pause. "And what are you going to do, my lord Phantomhive?"

"I'm stuck here for the next day or so. Until then, Sebastian will investigate Beddor for me." There was a creak, and a scrape, as if someone was pushing a chair back. "The meeting is over, no thanks to your distractibility."

"But it's one of my best qualities! Don't you agree, my little cat?"

She shut the door quietly, picked up one of the épées, and began to fence with the air, ignoring the ache in her muscles and the complaint in her shoulders. Beddor. She knew that name, didn't she? He was one of her father's knights, originally a well-placed merchant who worked mainly with the Oriental trading companies. She must have met him at least once, but she couldn't remember his face, whether he was young or old or fat or thin or anything in between.

And Sebastian was going to investigate him. 

One thing hadn't changed about Ciel, at least. He was still the Queen's Watchdog. The Evil Noble. A Phantomhive.

She lunged, and the blunted tip of the épée came up against something. Cloth. A shoulder. She yelped, and pulled back, and Ciel rubbed his shoulder awkwardly. "Ow."

"It's not pointed," she said, but she lowered the sword anyway. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. It only stung for a moment."

Lizzy turned away, and pretended she didn't notice him studying her, carefully, from her braided hair down to her toes. Her ears felt hot at the scrutiny, but she only lifted her braid off the back of her neck and said, "I'm sorry Mama is not here to say hello. She's the one who summoned you, I'm afraid."

"I see." Instead of leaving, though, he went to the table, where she'd left her second épée. His hand hovered over the hilt. "May I?"

"Oh." She blinked at him. She hadn't seen Ciel pick up a sword voluntarily since…well, maybe never, considering he'd been training with Mama too, until he vanished. She fought back the wave of possessiveness—her blades were  _hers_ , after all, crafted for her hands exactly—and nodded. "Um…of course."

He held the hilt correctly, but he didn't grip it the way he should have done; instead he almost cradled it in his hand, as though he was afraid it was going to bite him, and studied it carefully. Then he passed it to his left hand, and cut the air with it so fast it made a swooping noise. Lizzy parried automatically, knocking the épée away from her, and stared at him for a moment. For some reason, Ciel looked pleased. Or, at least, as pleased as Ciel could look, which was not very. Without a word, he offered her the épée again. "I should like to see you fight sometime, if you're as good as they say."

She could think of nothing witty or charming to say to this, so she went with the truth instead. "I would like that. I've been practicing since the  _Campania_." She took her épée back. "Do you always seem to run into trouble like that, Ciel, or do you ask for it?"

"Like what?"

"Like reanimated corpses."

She could see the shields go up around him. "Why do you ask?"

"They weren't exactly appetizing."

He coughed, but she heard the laughter hidden in the sound. "No, I try to keep away from walking corpses, thank you."

"Ah. Well, that's good. I couldn't stand the smell."

It was a tentative dance of words. She wasn't sure what to say to him, how she'd ever really spoken to him before now. She wasn't sure, but she thought Ciel might be feeling a bit awkward too, like the carpet had been whipped out from under his feet. He was definitely wary. He didn't know what to expect from her anymore.

 _Keep your opponent on his toes, Elizabeth, it's the best way to defeat him_.

But she didn't want to defeat him. She wanted to come to a truce. Maybe. Did she? She wasn't sure. Lizzy hesitated, and then asked, "Do you still practice fencing?"

"No." He would have ended it there, but for some reason he frowned and added, "I shoot."

She'd seen the pistol creasing his pocket. Mama had taught her how to pick out weapons disguised on a body. It was automatic for her to notice them, now; knives under sleeves, too-sharp hairpins, and guns. All sorts of guns. "Mama never taught me how to shoot."

"I would have thought that would have been the first thing you would learn."

Lizzy lifted one shoulder in a highly unladylike shrug and said, "I think she thought I might become too much of a tomboy if she did. I've always wanted to learn how, though. It would be useful to know."

"Sir." It was Sebastian. He bowed from the doorway. "My lady Elizabeth. The Marchioness is asking for you."

"I'll go change then,” Lizzy said, and began to curtsy. "Good afternoon, my lord."

"Lizzy."

She paused, halfway out the door, and turned. Ciel was watching her again, his head tilted slightly to one side. Then he cleared his throat and said, "You've grown up, Lizzy."

"So have you."

Hesitation. He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at Sebastian, and said, "I can teach you to shoot, if you like. It would be….I think you would find it useful."

Lizzy stiffened. Something in her relaxed. She smiled at him, and for some reason his eye widened a bit; he looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. Then she curtsied again. "I think I would like that, Ciel."

Then she turned, and left the fencing hall, and had to stop herself from spinning on the balls of her feet in a pirouette of triumph.

_Point to Lizzy Middleford._


	3. His Fiancée, Curious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to hereticality on Tumblr for the Italian translations.

Of course, she doubted he'd ever follow through with it. Ciel never offered anything he didn't mean to do, but Mama would probably be against it, and after all, they were leaving in the morning and she couldn't get to the Phantomhive estate very often, not now that she was mainly living in Town. The season wouldn't be starting for months, but there were calls to make and minor parties to attend and meetings and her training and her studies. Despite her success in getting Ciel to offer, she would probably never be able to take him up on it.

She sighed, and fiddled with the strand of hair that always fell forward over her face no matter what she did with it. He'd only been tolerating her anyway. She'd probably never hear about the offer again.

 _I'll ask Mama_ , she decided, and stood, smoothing her gloved hands over her jacket to make sure there were no wrinkles. She always felt a bit sad wearing this dress, because it was crimson red; it reminded her too much of Aunt Anne.

_You know white flowers and subdued clothes do not suit you. What suits you is passionate red…the color of licorice burning in the earth._

Lizzy shook her head frantically, and straightened. Thinking of Aunt Anne always made her cry, and she had to go out with Mama on her errands and calls; she couldn't afford to cry and be blotchy.

She hadn't had a chance to visit Anne's grave yet since she'd returned. She would do that tomorrow. She could go with Paula. She brightened at that thought; she hadn't seen Paula in over a year. Paula had married a few weeks before Lizzy had had to leave with Papa, and hadn't been able to accompany her. Lizzy had written her, of course, but since they'd been traveling so constantly she'd only received one or two of the return notes, and they'd always been written in haste.

Now that they were back in the London townhouse, though, Mrs. Bradford would be sent back to the Middleford estate to take her old place as housekeeper, and Paula would be returned to her rightful place. She luxuriated in this thought for a moment before securing her hat on her head with a few pins and going to find her mother.

Frances was sitting in the library, flicking through the mail that Papa had discarded that morning as not being relevant to work. Mostly it was letters and invitations, to the off-season parties, dinners, that sort of thing; Lizzy cringed at the pile of them.  _You leave England for a year, come back expecting to be forgotten, and suddenly everyone's clamoring to see you._  She didn't recognize any of the senders, but they clearly recognized her. Mama glanced at her, and scoffed. "Mostly it's the Old Ladies pushing their boys at you."

"But I'm engaged."

"They're hoping Ciel will break the engagement, I suppose. After all, not all childhood engagements follow through. The families could have had a fight. Or one or the other will fall in love sometime, and not always with their intended."

"Like you did,” Lizzy said with a sly smile. Frances sniffed, and tossed another few envelopes onto the pile.

"Hold your tongue, Elizabeth."

Lizzy waited until her mother had turned away before sorting through the envelopes herself. Grey. Witherspoon. Burleigh. Fotheringhay. Sandford. Beddor.  _Beddor?_  The paper was heavy, but not as heavy as it could have been; a cheapish envelope, trying to look expensive. She slit it open.

_Miss Rebecca Beddor would like to extend a cordial invitation to her birthday fete, held at her home on the day before Valentine's Day, 1891, beginning at six in the evening. She dearly hopes you will be able to attend._

The thirteenth of February…that was a Saturday. Not this Saturday, but the next. Another sheet followed, describing the particulars of the party: a costumed affair, with a theme that reminded her strongly of Gothic novels. She was surprised that the idea had managed to get past the Temperance Society, the Old Ladies, that formidable band of old harridans who sat off to the side at every event and supervised the Fresh Young Things just coming out. Lizzy tapped the envelope against the desk thoughtfully.

_I'm stuck here for the next day or so. Until then, Sebastian will investigate Beddor for me._

If the Beddors were centered in London, then no wonder Ciel had accompanied them back here. And Sebastian had been absent from the table yesterday morning, just like they'd said; Snake had been the one to serve the (carefully preserved) food.  _Sebastian will investigate for me._  So if Ciel was investigating the Beddor family, then there was something going on. And if something was going on, then that meant he would be acting reckless again.

 _He has Sebastian,_ she reminded herself.  _Like on the_ Campania.

Her stomach swam. Ciel had pulled her to him, hiding her face after the first death, after she'd seen Sebastian crush a human skull with his gloved hands, but she'd  _heard_  it, the sick popping and cracking of bone, the spatter of blood and the wet slap of something heavier that could have been brain. It was one of the few things she  _could_  remember from that night, and it had a disturbing tendency to crop up in her nightmares.

Ciel would be fine. He had Sebastian, and he had a pistol, and he would be fine. There was no reason for her to inquire into this matter. She had no authority to interfere with any of it, and he'd probably be furious with her if she did.

"What are we doing this afternoon, Mama?" she asked, and as Frances began to reel off the list of errands, slipped the invitation from Rebecca Beddor into her deep skirt pocket. Regardless of whether or not she ended up snooping, she thought Rebecca Beddor was around her age. She remembered the girl, even; a nervous little thing, dark-haired and awkward, overshadowed by her three elder brothers and shyer than a stray cat. She needed a friend, Lizzy was sure.

 _You, Lizzy Middleford, are shameless_ , she thought to herself, and fought a smile.

She called on Rebecca the next day. Paula accompanied her, and Lizzy wondered if her maid was ever going to stop smiling. She'd waited until Mama was out of the room before engulfing Paula in a hug that would have rivaled an orangutan's and demanding every detail of life in England while she'd been away. (There were some things about her, after all, that were never going to change.)

The Beddors didn't live in Mayfair, but they weren't that far away; just in in one of the neighboring London boroughs. When Lizzy stepped down out of the cab, she saw the curtains on one of the upstairs windows flutter to the side, as though someone had drawn them very quickly. Paula followed, and asked, in a conspiratorial whisper, "Did you inform them you were coming, Miss Lizzy?"

"Of course I did." She'd sent one of the new footmen down that morning with the news. "And she invited me to her fete, Paula." Then she fought a smile. "You're not worrying, are you? You never worry."

"I never had to worry about you before,” Paula scolded. Lizzy rang the doorbell, and turned back to her maid.

"Don't worry, Paula. I know what I'm doing. Rebecca Beddor is the daughter of one of my father's men; I've met her before. She's petrified of her own shadow. If she's introduced to society this year, like Mama suspects she will be, she'll be eaten by the wolves. I don't want that to happen to anyone."

Paula muttered something under her breath. Lizzy ignored her.

The footman that showed them into the drawing room was tall, taller than Sebastian, and incredibly thin, like the shadow of a streetlamp. He bowed them in, nervously, mumbled something that  _could_  have been an excuse for his young mistress, and then almost bolted from the room in a way that would have been highly amusing, if it hadn't been so pathetic. Lizzy settled on one of the chairs, wondering how often anyone in the Beddor household had visitors, let alone shy Rebecca. Paula stood behind her chair, halfway in the shadows, and said, "Are you quite sure this is the best idea, Miss Lizzy?"

"Oh, probably not,” Lizzy said. She thought she could hear music coming from somewhere, violin music. "But we're here now, aren't we? Besides, Paula, it's not as though I'm going to humiliate the poor little thing."

"I know you do." Paula hesitated. "I just…I want you to be sure of your intentions, Miss Lizzy. If this goes wrong, you could make it worse for her instead of better."

Lizzy had a sinking feeling that Paula knew exactly what her motivations were for visiting Rebecca Beddor. She coughed, and said, "I do honestly mean to help her, Paula."

"I know. I just think you should be careful, Miss Lizzy."

"I will."

Paula, mollified, fell quiet again, though she still looked a bit dubious about the whole thing, and together they waited. It took nearly ten minutes; considering the reactions, she wasn't sure the message she'd sent had quite reached the ears of the upstairs people, because when someone finally swanned into the room, it wasn't Rebecca Beddor. It was an older, sharper woman, maybe in her late twenties, with her hair bound back in a tight bun. She was as drab as a mouse. Lizzy stood, and the woman swept into a curtsy that Lizzy and Paula returned. "I apologize, my lady, for the wait, but my mistress is in the middle of her tutoring at the moment and cannot come downstairs."

A snub. Perhaps not a calculated one, but a snub nonetheless. Lizzy hid a frown behind her gloved hand. "Oh, no, no trouble. What is she studying?"

"Dancing, my lady." The sharp grey woman—probably a governess—said. "I'm afraid—"

"Dancing?"

The governess grimaced. "Yes, my lady. Ballroom dancing."

"Well, there's no reason why we cannot do it together,” Lizzy said, and gave the governess a look that brooked no argument. "She's upstairs, you said?"

The governess flinched. "My lady—"

"You can take us up, then, Miss…?"

"Stokes, my lady."

"Well, thank you, Miss Stokes. Come on, Paula."

"Yes, Miss Lizzy."

The good thing about being the daughter of a marquis, let alone the marquis who led Queen Victoria's knights, was that there were very few people who dared to ever say no to whatever she might want to do, no matter how mad it was, or how rude. The governess shut her mouth, and led them meekly up the stairs.

The house was full of Oriental things. Delicate paper fans. Knives. Silk paintings. A curved sword that she would have killed to get her hands on. She made a mental note to see if she could get one of her own; she'd heard they were sharp enough to cut a floating human hair. If she used it on a living human…she clenched her hands into fists to hide the fact that they were trembling.  _If I have to kill to protect him, then I will. I will without a second thought._

The violin player really was quite good. She wasn't sure how a more-than-middling family like the Beddors had managed to find one that was so talented, but his count was perfect; the music was undeniably beautiful. It ceased when Stokes knocked on the door.

" _C'est impossible_!" The voice was heavily accented and irritable. "Enter, if you must, but take care, madame, for we have a fool in this room!"

Stokes shot a slightly apologetic, slightly helpless look at Lizzy before opening the door and saying, "Miss Rebecca, may I present Miss Elizabeth Middleford."

The dance instructor—a portly Frenchman who was glaring at Rebecca Beddor as though he'd like nothing more to cuff her around the head—blanched a bit, and bowed. "Mademoiselle."

There was a crash. The violinist turned hurriedly away to collect his music stand, but not before she caught a glimpse of black hair and dried-blood eyes. She hid a grimace.  _I should have known._  "Rebecca, isn't it? I received your note."

Rebecca Beddor was exactly the way Lizzy remembered her: a pale vague thing with grey eyes and dark hair and fluttering hands. She gulped, and twisted her fingers into her skirt. Her eyes were about as wide as platters. "R-R-R-Really? Oh!" She curtsied. "My lady—"

"Lizzy is fine,” Lizzy said, as Sebastian collected his things. She met his eyes, and then deliberately turned away from him. "I was down the road visiting a friend and thought it would be much more convenient to pop in and let you know that I plan on accepting your invitation. It's a delightful idea."

Rebecca flushed pink. "I-It is?"

"Of course it is. Out of season parties are often  _much_  more interesting than the ones in season." She turned back to Sebastian. "You, what's your name?"

Sebastian eyed her as though he wasn't quite sure what to make of this, and Lizzy raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to make one up for you if you don't give me one, sir, and I suspect you won't like the one I give you. I've been reading a great many Gothic novels lately, and I doubt you'd much like being called Sebastian or something similar."

He ducked his head. His soft voice was accented with something she'd heard in Italy; was he impersonating someone? Probably. The accent was nearly perfect. "Cremisi Deluca, my lady. A humble violinist."

Cremisi meant  _crimson_. If he was pretending to be Italian, then they had some way out of this mess. And humble...if there was one thing Sebastian was  _not_ , it was humble. Lizzy tilted her head to one side. "Where are you from, Signore? What part of Italy?"

"Pisa, my lady."

"You are very talented." She shifted to her rusty Italian; it had been over three months since she'd been in Rome, and despite working on Latin pretty much daily, it was fading out of her memory. " _Se siete qui in veste di Cane da Guardia, non è la ragazza colei che dovreste guardare_."

Paula looked at her with wide eyes, but said nothing. Lizzy made a mental note to explain things to her later. It had been Paula to start her on Italian; Paula's mother came from Sienna, and the maid had grown up speaking a fluent mixture of Italian and English. So, of course, she would be able to understand every word. Hopefully, the rest of the room would remain in the dark.

" _Ma dovete ammettere, la mia signorina_ —" He set his finger against his jaw, tilting his head in that way he had, the one that reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse. " _È un travestimento perfetto_."

She smiled brightly at him. " _Non scherzate con me, signore_."

Someone coughed. The Frenchman. Lizzy snapped back to attention. "I apologize, Miss Beddor. It's been a long time since I've had a chance to practice my Italian on a native. That was crass of me. Do you speak Italian?"

"No, my lady."

"Lizzy is fine." Stokes, too, looked lost at the sudden flurry of Italian. Probably a French speaker. Lizzy relaxed a bit. "Signore Deluca, you play the violin particularly well. Are you a music teacher?"

"On occasion."

"My cousin might benefit from your teaching. If you would, I can give you a note that will get you an audience. Paula, did you bring the paper?"

"Ah—" Paula scrambled. "Yes."

Sebastian almost frowned at her. "That's truly not necessary, signora."

"No, I'm afraid I have to insist, signore." She smiled thinly, signed her name beneath the scrawled note, and creased the paper in half, offering it to him. "I think you may both be pleased with the results."

He hesitated. Then he took the note, and bowed. "Grazie, signora."

"Wonderful!" She clapped her hands. "Now, I think you were learning to waltz? Monsieur, if it is not too much trouble, it's been such a long time since I've had a proper English waltz—do you mind my joining the class?"

The Frenchman swelled up like a bullfrog, but there was no way he could argue with her without a social gaffe. " _Certainement, mademoiselle_."

"Well, then, shall we begin?" said Lizzy. "Signore, you can start whenever you like. Rebecca, you don't mind if I steal your teacher for a moment, do you?"

Rebecca looked fairly dazed. "Um…no, of course not."

"Brilliant." She took the girl's hands, and looked down at her. "Well, I'm taller than you. I can lead. Monsieur, can you count for us, please?"

The rest of the room looked rather like a whirlwind had sped into the room, stolen all the sanity, and swept out again. It was almost amusing. Rebecca hesitated. "I'm really w-w-wretched at this."

"Oh, don't worry. My brother steps on my feet every time we dance. I'm used to it." She was; Edward might have been pure grace in a fencing match, but put him in a suit and send him out onto a dance floor and he turned into the clumsiest man in the world. "Come on. You hold your skirt out of the way with one hand—that's it."

They danced in silence for a few minutes. Rebecca couldn't look Lizzy in the face; she was watching her feet, struggling to make sure she didn't trod on Lizzy's toes. She'd probably taken the poor little thing by surprise, Lizzy thought, watching the girl and ignoring the eyebrow Sebastian was raising at her. Rebecca was just as timid as she remembered, tongue-tied and frightened. It would take a long while to draw her out of her shell, and even longer if she planned to get any information out of the little thing.

Though, she told herself, that wasn't the only reason she was here. She really did mean to help Rebecca. It would be her project; she'd been bored without a project. And maybe along the way she might be able to help Ciel with his latest assignment, and then the awkwardness between them would ease a little bit. Hopefully.

_Stop thinking about it._

She danced with the tutor to show Rebecca the cotillion; danced with Rebecca again to teach her the steps. She even danced with Stokes, who was highly affronted by the whole spectacle but had no opportunity to make her opinion known; Paula drew her aside and engaged her in conversation before she could say a single word.

When Sir and Lady Beddor came in, wondering what all the ruckus was about, she thought Lady Beddor was going to have a heart attack at the sight of her daughter chattering with the next Countess Phantomhive. They regained themselves quickly, however.

Lizzy wondered what it was about Sir Beddor that worried Queen Victoria enough to ask Ciel to look into the man. He was almost as awkward and shy as his daughter. She glanced at Sebastian, who lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug, and reminded herself to ask her father later. If anyone knew more about Sir Beddor than Ciel, it would be her papa.

By the time they left, she'd bullied Rebecca Beddor into coming to tea a few days before the party, and Sebastian slunk out of the room as soon as the lesson was over, after a curt bow to all of them that spoke volumes for his current mood. Lizzy ignored it, and even waved at him as he left; she'd decided to be the bubbly clueless friend with Rebecca Beddor, and the bubbly clueless friend she would be. 

* * *

 

"I heard you visited the Beddors today."

Papa moved his rook three spaces east, and took her knight without comment. Lizzy flicked her eyes up to his face, but he was focused on the board, his head propped in one hand, his hair falling into his eyes. She debated, then moved her bishop and said, "Yes."

"That's an interesting way to spend your afternoon, my dear. I don't think you've ever liked Rebecca Beddor before now."

"Not really." He moved a pawn, and she took it. "She's too frightened of the world. She reminds me of a rabbit, stuck in its hole."

"So you're adopting the rabbit?"

"In a way."

Papa shifted one of his knights, and remained quiet for a moment. Lizzy hesitated. "Papa."

"Mmm?"

"What do you know about the Beddors?"

"Well, not much. Damian Beddor keeps himself to himself and spends most of his time working with the silk merchants in the Far East. I don't think he's been back in England for more than a month or so. He was in Japan until late summer, I think Wilson said, and then he had to sail back, you see, and that took a while."

She took the knight and held it in her hand, weighing the marble piece. "What was he doing in Japan?"

"Working, I suppose. He imports silks and exports cloth. He has a few factories in…Kent, I think, or maybe Essex. He brings the silk in and sells them."

"What made him a knight?"

"I believe he rescued the Princess Helena when she was very young from the back of a runaway horse. Her Majesty knighted him for it, or Prince Albert…I believe it was the prince, before he died."

"But that was thirty years ago!"

"Beddor's older than he looks. I think he's older than me." Papa's eyes twinkled a bit. "Check, my dear."

She looked down at the board, bit back a swearword, and shifted her king out of danger.

"Now, why on earth are you asking prying questions about Damian Beddor?" he said, and moved another piece; she lost her second knight. "Don't tell me you're developing an intelligence network, my dear, your mother already has one of those and it's terrifying to be in the same room with them."

Mama did have an intelligence network, of sorts—the other noblewomen of her generation, who passed on information, gossip, traces of news. Once a month they all came around to the Middleford townhouse and talked and had tea and sometimes knitted. Elizabeth had had to attend, just before she left with Papa. She'd never had to deal with anything more frightening. Not even the  _Campania_.

"No, not an intelligence network." She hesitated. "I overheard something a few days ago. Beddor's being suspected of something."

"Of what?"

"I'm not entirely certain of the details, Papa. I didn't hear very much."

He frowned at her. "Eavesdropping again, Lizzy?"

"If nobody tells me anything, how else am I supposed to learn about things?"

He laughed at that. "Point. I'm guessing you were listening in on a conversation at the Phantomhive estate. Have you shown Ciel what you can do yet, Lizzy?"

"It's difficult." Lizzy scowled, anxiously. "It's been a year. He's changed, Papa."

"So have you."

 _You've changed, Lizzy_. The back of her neck felt hot. She moved her rook, and said, "Maybe. A bit. But….he's changed too. I don't know how to act around him anymore."

"Do you want to know why I took you along for that year, Elizabeth, rather than your brother?" She lifted an eyebrow, and waited. "I did tell you that you needed sharpening, honing, but it was more than that. You needed time away from Ciel in order to learn who you are, sweeting."

"But—"

"I know you love him, Lizzy." She flushed, and ducked her head so her hair hid that fact. "But you have to hear me on this. You needed to learn who  _you_  were, rather than who Ciel wanted you to be, or who you _thought_ Ciel wanted you to be. Do you understand?"

Lizzy took his queen. She rubbed her thumb over the stylized crown, the piece weighing heavy in her hand. She remembered Edward dropping it, during the first game she'd ever played with him; that was where the crack in the base had come from. Mama had been horrified. Papa hadn't minded at all.

_Poetry over philosophy. Embroidery rather than cooking. Dance rather than chess. Be an unknowing angel. Every girl born in the country of roses is raised by these words._

_A lady should be super weak, and cute in front of her lord. It's the most important thing, to be an innocent, naïve girl. It's your job to smile and be surrounded by nice things, just like in nursery rhymes…you should always be like that._

_But you weren't like that, Aunt Anne. You weren't like that at all._

Maybe she had wanted to be.

Ciel had been there too, she thought. Ciel and Aunt Rachel and Uncle Vincent. They'd all been there. She'd gone to speak to Ciel, but he'd retreated, shy, back to his mother. And she'd gone to watch him train with Mama the next day, and that moment had come, the one that had changed everything for her.

_Aunt Frances is pretty, but…such a strong wife…that scares me. I'm glad you're the one who's going to be my wife, Lizzy._

Terror had spiked through her when she'd heard that. Complete and utter terror. What would she have done, if Papa hadn't taken her away? If she hadn't had a chance to grow?

_Dancing with Ciel in the clothes I picked out for him is like a dream! I will dress stylishly with all my might, too!_

_I would still be like that,_  she thought.  _I would still be like that. I would be trapped in a labyrinth of Madame Red's roses and ruffles and lace._

_You won't hate me?_

_I could never…_

The person she'd thought Ciel wanted her to be. Not the person she was.

"Yes,” she said. "Yes, I think so."

Papa smiled at her. "I'm glad."

He put her in checkmate. Lizzy knocked over her king with a flick of the forefinger, then stood, wrapped her arms around her father, and set her cheek against his hair. "I love you, Papa."

"You'll find your way with Ciel, darling. In time, you'll get the proper ground again. But do you still plan on helping him?"

She was resolute. "Yes."

"If you say so." He kissed the back of her hand. "Your mother will be cross if you stay up much later, Lizzy. You should go to bed soon."

"I will. I just have to finish writing some letters."

She helped him put away the chess set. The house was going quiet; the street outside was dead silent. Nobody was coming back at this hour, or going out. It was too late for that sort of thing. Lizzy crossed to the bookshelf and pulled out the book on China and Japan that Papa had bought in Portugal, weighing it in both hands.  _I wonder what Ciel was reading, when he caught me sneaking back in. I wonder if I'll be able to find the book when we go back to the manor._

"You need to remember something, though,” Papa said, watching her. "He's fifteen, darling, and he's a proud boy. He might take offense to you sneaking in through a back door he couldn't have ever managed to find, let alone unlock."

She considered for a moment. Then she pulled out another book, a volume of Edgar Allen Poe, and tucked both volumes under her arm. "You know, Papa, I find that I'm not sure that I care if he's angry with me or not. Not when it's about keeping someone I care about safe."

Her father stood, and hugged her, kissing the top of her head. "In some ways, you remind me very much of your mother, Lizzy."

"Well, I should hope so," she said, tartly, and bade him good night.

Sebastian would have told Ciel by now, she thought. Ciel would know that she'd been to visit Rebecca Beddor, and he'd probably read her note, but for once, she didn't mind. She rather thought he wouldn't be happy with the situation, but the situation stood and they would now have to deal with it.

 _Maybe I shouldn't have done this._ After all, it  _was_  none of her business. It was Ciel's business.

Then she stiffened her spine. Ciel's business would, sooner or later, become her business. And what had her whole life been devoted to, all the fencing work and the languages and the hand-to-hand combat with Edward, if not to help Ciel in his work?

So if he was angry, she would let him be angry. And if he was furious, she'd deal with it the only way she knew how.

She'd fight him for it.

All in all, she thought, opening her books, it had been a rather satisfying afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Se siete qui in veste di Cane da Guardia, non è la ragazza colei che dovreste guardare: If you're here on behalf of the Watchdog, the girl isn't the one you should be looking at. (Roughly.)
> 
> Ma dovete ammettere, la mia signorina; È un travestimento perfetto: But you have to admit, my lady, the disguise is perfect.
> 
> Non scherzate con me, signore: Don't play with me, sir.


	4. His Fiancée, Determined

"Letter for you, Miss Elizabeth. Hand delivered."

Phillips offered the silver letter tray with a bob of her head, but she kept her eyes fixed on the toe of her left shoe. Lizzy wondered if serving as Mama's maidservant had finally cowed the woman. It would have cowed anyone, after all, if one was not of a very formidable constitution. Phillips was not, and she was also relatively new; Lizzy couldn't remember the woman being there before they'd left for the continent.

 _Only a few months then, eight at the most._  Mama would be disappointed. Or pleased; she was always trying to 'break the servants in'. Perhaps this was what she was talking about?

"A letter?" Mama looked startled; she gave Lizzy a look that promised extensive questioning, but held her tongue. Lady Burleigh and Lady Sandford had come to for a visit, and they were two of Mama's prime gossip sources. It would be impossible to keep anything quiet if it was said in a room either one of them inhabited. "From one of your friends in the country, I'd expect. The Mason girl, perhaps."

"Yes,” Lizzy said automatically. She took the letter, and the letter opener, from the tray, slit the envelope, and unfolded the note; one side was all rough, as though it had been torn from something. The endpaper of a book, maybe. Her heart bounced up into her throat. She knew that writing.

"Hand delivered, you said?" Lizzy asked, struggling to keep her voice light and casual. Not that Phillips would have noticed if she wasn't.

"The boy who brought it is waiting by the side door, ma'am. Said he was to wait for a reply."

"How improper,” Mama said. "Send him away, Phillips."

"No, wait,” Lizzy said, and stood. "I have to pen my response first. He's been instructed to wait, after all, and if he doesn't get an answer he may not leave. We don't want a scene, Mama."

Mama faltered for a moment, but there wasn't much else she could say about it, not in front of the other women. She inclined her head, and stabbed her embroidery through with the needle. "Of course not. You're excused for the moment, Elizabeth."

"Yes, Mama." She paused. "I was planning on going out shopping in half an hour, if that's all right. Paula will go with me. I was going to meet Rebecca."

Mama's eyes flashed, but she only said, "Of course that's all right," in a deceptively mild tone. "Have a good time, dear. And don't forget your escort."

"Yes, Mama."

It only took a second to write her two-word response on a piece of Mama's notepaper— _of course_ —but she remained in the library after Phillips had taken her note, and debated. From the scrap of paper, Ciel's elegant scrawl almost seemed to glare at her.  _Meet me in Hyde Park in half an hour. Come alone. We have much to discuss._

'Much to discuss' probably having something to do with Rebecca Beddor. So Sebastian  _had_  told him. Well, of course he would. She'd sent a note along to Ciel, after all, a simple thing, but guaranteed to either irritate him or spike his interest or both. Considering what she'd written, she rather thought it might be both.  _There are subtler ways to snoop, my lord_.

Lizzy drummed her fingers on the desk for a few moments, and then went to change her clothes. Half an hour meant she had very little time to get to Hyde Park at all.

Paula made no comment on the suddenness of the outing. Neither did she comment on the fact that Lizzy opened the bureau and pulled out a parasol that she hadn't owned the year before, or that the hat she pinned to her hat had an extra pin that was extra-long and thicker than usual. Lizzy smiled at the maid, and wondered if she ought to have one ordered for Paula as well. If Paula continued being her maid at all, after she left the Middleford house, she would be in the same household as the Queen's Watchdog; danger was inevitable. Or even before that; if this was a success, it might be more dangerous for Paula to remain with Lizzy at all.

Her heart twisted and stung, as though she'd just turned the hatpin on herself, and she turned away quickly. Paula must have read something in her face, though. "Are you all right, Miss Lizzy?"

"Of course." On second thought, she pulled the hatpin from her head and offered it to Paula. "Use it if you feel the need."

Paula's eyes grew very wide. "Do you think the…need will arise?"

"No. But it's never wrong to be extra-prepared. Be careful it doesn't prick you, though. There's something on it; it'll burn awfully if you pierce skin."

Paula tucked the long needle through the cloth of her hat without further comment.

They caught a cab to Hyde Park, and Lizzy hoped that dark clothes and a veil would be enough to hide her face. Of course, it had been over a year since she'd met up with anyone here in London, and she'd changed from last year, she was certain, but her family's blonde hair and green eyes were incredibly distinctive; the combination  _screamed_  Middleford to anybody who knew anybody. At least this way, she could hide her eyes and hope that she would pose as Paula's companion, rather than the other way around. Her palms were sweating in her black lace gloves, and she clenched a fist over the handle of her parasol.

"Who are we meeting, miss?" Paula asked, when they were almost halfway to the park. Lizzy jumped, and looked at her with wide eyes, hidden behind the veil. Then she cleared her throat.

"Ciel."

"Ah." Paula tilted her head to the side. "Does Lady Frances know?"

"No. And I'd prefer she not know. Not yet." Lizzy leaned back in her seat. "It's not a romantic liaison, Paula. It's about the Beddors."

"I thought it might be," Paula said, anxiously. "What's going on in that house, Miss Lizzy?"

"I don't know." Something to do with opium, perhaps. There was no reason for Mr. Lau to be involved otherwise. But she kept that thought to herself. Paula nodded, content with that answer, propped her chin in one hand, and stared out the window of the cab.

The trouble with meeting anyone in Hyde Park was that it was so very large. Lizzy stepped out of the cab, paid the driver, and wondered where she was supposed to go now. Paula tilted her head in a question that Lizzy couldn't answer; rubbing her palms on her skirts, she pointed down one of the paths with the end of her parasol and started for a bench.

There were nannies with babies in prams; mothers with children and dogs; young courting couples whose expressions made her heart ache because at times, she confessed, it was difficult to imagine  _anyone_  looking at her that way, let alone Ciel. Ever since his parents had died, something in him had shut down; she doubted he'd ever be able to show affection, at least, not in the way the rest of the world did, because he would be too frightened of losing it once he found it again.

She wondered, sitting on the bench with Paula, if this could be a trick…but no, Hyde Park was very public; if someone wanted to get rid of her or kidnap her or something, they would have had her come to a secluded area. An old man passed them, his newspaper held tight against his side with his elbow; a few of the street children skulked after him, attempting to look nonchalant. When one of them glanced at Lizzy, she lifted her parasol in a vaguely threatening manner, and the boy scuttled.

She checked her watch. Almost exactly half an hour since she'd received the note. Actually, closer to forty minutes. Lizzy tapped her parasol on the edge of the bench. Five more minutes passed; Paula stared off into space, and Lizzy wondered if she was thinking about her husband.  _Ciel…this better not have been a joke._

"Signorina."

Sebastian. Or, to be more accurate, Sebastian as Cremisi Deluca. He snapped his feet together, bowed, and said, "You wouldn't be the Signorina Violoncellista, would you? My master has been looking for someone to play the cello for him."

She colored a bit. She'd been playing the cello since she was small, but she'd made sure neither Ciel nor anyone other than Papa and her teacher ever heard her play; she wasn't very good. "I warn you, he probably won't enjoy the sound of it, Signore Deluca. But yes."

Paula shot her a look, and mouthed,  _Deluca?_  Lizzy made a sharp movement with one hand—if Sebastian was dressing as the Italian violinist for a meeting, he was doing it for a reason—and continued. "Is he running late?"

"No. He requested that I come and collect you." He sent a second look at Paula. "Only the string instruments were to attend, signorina."

"She can't come at any other time, so I told her to tag along today. That isn't a problem, isn't it?"

Lizzy glared at him, daring to him to argue. Sebastian said nothing more; he simply bowed, a low sweeping bow, and said. " _Certamente. Seguimi, signorina musicisti_."

They followed him.

Ciel was on the edge of Rotten Row, standing under the shade of one of the trees and watching the lords and ladies stride along, climbing in and out of carriages, chattering away. He wasn't dressed as Ciel Phantomhive, though; he was in a respectable, if cheaply made, suit, and his hair was loose, his hat pulled down over his eyes to hide the fact that one of them was covered with a patch. His eyebrow went up at the sight of Paula. "Elizabeth. You were supposed to come alone."

"Well, that hardly seems fair, considering your own escort." She looked pointedly at Sebastian. "Besides, I hear tell you're looking for people to look into the Beddors. Paula could be useful."

He eyed her for a long moment. There was no trace of anger in his face, or any sort of reaction at all; he was smooth and cold, like a frozen lake. His fists were clenched tight, however. Then he straightened, blew his hair out of his eyes, and shrugged. "It can't be helped, I suppose. This way."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere we can't be overheard by the wrong people," he said, and fell quiet after that. Lizzy tucked her arm through Paula's and followed him, very much aware of Sebastian trailing after them all. She wondered if he was checking for stalkers. The thought made her spine go icy; she fingered the handle of her parasol, and wondered if she would have to use it.

The coffeehouse was a few blocks away, a small dingy place that was nearly empty. When Ciel walked in, the waiter twitched, and went to the back door, unlocking it; Ciel nodded to the man, but made no other comment. Lizzy and Paula trailed after him, Paula clearing her throat and whispering a quiet thank you to the wary-looking waiter. Sebastian closed the door after them, and turned up the lamps, casting warm yellow light over the small room.

It looked like something out of a novel. Packing crates mixed up with odd pieces of furniture. There was a map of London pinned to the table, with purple-tipped needles stuck into different locations. One of them, she noticed, was driven right through the place where the Beddor house would be found. Another was at the dockyards. Sebastian whisked the map away before she could see any more, and cleared up the papers. Ciel dropped into the first chair, and gestured her forward.

"Sit."

Lizzy sat. She held her parasol tight in one hand. For a long anxious moment, he did nothing but stare at her; then he let out a breath, took off his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was, Elizabeth, what you did?"

"As though putting Sebastian into that house was any more intelligent, Ciel?" she replied lightly, but her heartbeat was hammering in her ears. Anger snapped through his face, a cold icy spark, and then vanished again.

"Sebastian could have at least defended himself if things had gone wrong."

The floor was steady under her feet. This was a battlefield; there was no time to be awkward about it. "As I could have."

"Don't make me laugh, Elizabeth. My ribs have been hurting lately after one of Beddor's goons  _threw me into a wall_."

She didn't bother to answer that one. "I think you're just angry with me because I'm in a prime position to get you information, and you didn't think of the idea yourself."

"That's not it  _at all_."

"Isn't it?"

"For God's sake, Elizabeth! How did you even hear about the Beddors, anyway?" He stared at her for a moment, and then answered his own question. "The fencing hall. You heard?"

"Only bits."

"You were  _eavesdropping_?"

There was no point in lying. "I was curious. And I knew you wouldn't tell me, even if I had asked."

He swore under his breath. She should have been offended, but instead she was pleased; he was in the depths of hot anger, not icy rage; hot anger she could work around. "Elizabeth, if you had gone snooping any further you would have been  _killed_."

"Which is precisely why I didn't snoop further than the drawing room." She made an impatient noise. "For goodness sake, it's not as though I held a knife to the girl's throat and demanded she tell me the truth. I attended her dancing lesson. I told her I'd attend her fete next week. I bullied her into coming to tea once or twice before then so I can help her with her costume. All of which means I have ample time to ask her about whatever it is you're investigating."

"You are  _not_  getting involved in the investigation. I won't allow it."

"Well, then, Ciel, you're a fool."

He stood sharply and began to pace. He didn't seem to be able to look at her. Lizzy remained still as stone on her chair for a long moment; then she put up her veil, and pinned it to the top of her hat to keep it out of her way. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian watching them, quiet, analyzing the way he always did. On her other side, Paula was silent, but her eyes were enormous.

"Do you have any idea how much information I could get out of that girl? She's shy. She wouldn't  _dream_  of talking to Sebastian, no matter what role he takes on. I have the advantage here simply because I'm  _female_ , Ciel, so don't act like I don't."

"The girl is a means to an end. She's not the target."

"That doesn't matter. If I get in, then I'm in a prime position to help you. And if you even think you have any say about what I'm  _allowed_  to do any longer,  _my lord_ , then you're so far off course that I wonder if you'll be hitting an iceberg. I'm not your wife yet, and even if I was, I would still be insisting on this."

He kept pacing.

"Do you think you can keep me locked up and safe away from what you do, Ciel? The instant I marry you, that makes me a target for whoever wants to interfere with your work. I'd be a fool if I didn't know that. And if there's any word that can describe what I am, Ciel, then 'fool' is not one of them."

"You're wrong about that," he snapped. The words felt like a slap, but she ignored them.

" _This is what I've trained for._ " She said it slowly, so he would hear her. " _This_  is what you do, Ciel, every day. And if I'm still going to marry you, then I'm going to be pulled into this. Whether you like it or not."

Ciel ran his hands through his hair again. His patch wasn't the elegant black thing that she was so used to seeing, but more like a bandage, white padding held on string.  _He's not Earl Phantomhive right now_ , she reminded herself, and wondered who he was playing at being. A merchant, maybe. A student. He could have been a student. He looked older than fifteen. Then he schooled himself, turning his face blank, draining the emotion away. "You aren't involved in this, Elizabeth."

"Don't go there, Ciel."

He spat another swearword. "Sebastian, get her out of here. I don't have to listen to this."

Lizzy lunged.

She pressed the button on the handle of her parasol, drawing the rapier in a quick sharp movement. Before she realized it, she was on the other side of the table; before either Ciel or Sebastian could move, she had the blade against Ciel's throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian move, but Paula had drawn the pin from her hat and set the tip to the butler's jugular.

" _Don't you dare touch my lady,_ " she said, and even though her voice was shaking, the hand that held the hatpin was steady as a rock.

Ciel stared at her with wide eyes. Lizzy let out a breath. "You're listening now, are you? Have I made my point well enough for you? Good." She kept the rapier to his throat. "You need to understand this. I've been involved with your duties since the  _Campania_ , Ciel. I've been involved ever since Mama started to teach me how to fence, in secret, away from everyone else because she was afraid of what would happen if anyone learned about my  _training_." She spat the word. "She taught me how to fight. I've learned languages and codes, how to tell when a man is lying. I've been taught how to kill with poison and with knives and with secret points on the human body that leaves no mark. I can tell that you're carrying your pistol with you, right now, in the hidden pocket sewn on the inside of your vest. I can tell that Sebastian has four daggers hidden up his sleeves and in his jacket, and that there's a fifth in a sheath hidden at the small of his back. I've been  _involved with this_  since I was born. So don't you  _dare_  tell me otherwise, Ciel Phantomhive."

Paula squeaked at that one. Lizzy bit the inside of her cheek, but she didn't look at the maid; she stared at her fiancé, and then moved back, sliding the rapier back into its hiding place. She turned away, and wondered if she'd gone too far. Ciel cleared his throat. Lizzy moved to Paula, and set a hand on the woman's wrist, gently pulling her away from Sebastian. She took the hatpin and set it on the table, and hugged Paula. Paula was shaking, like a leaf in a windstorm, and she clung to Lizzy, breathing hard.

"I need to teach you how to use that, darling, before you go throwing it around," Lizzy said, and then let go. "But thank you. And I apologize, Sebastian, but I needed to make my point. You know I wouldn't hurt him."

"I was confident that was the case, Lady Elizabeth," Sebastian said, but he still looked wary.

"I'm sure that's the case." He would have moved much faster if he thought Ciel was in any danger at all from her. This had just been a token resistance. Lizzy collected her parasol and sat down again, resting it across her knees. She was shaking inside too, the same way Paula was, but she refused to show that right now. There had been no point to all her training if she trembled now.

Ciel rubbed his throat thoughtfully, and stared at her. "That was unnecessary."

"Would you have stopped shouting any other way?"

He grimaced at her. "She taught you all that and she still didn't bother telling you how to shoot."

"Carrying a gun isn't ladylike,” Lizzy said primly. "Poison is a woman's weapon."

"So the swords—"

"An aberration."

"Ah." He stroked the Phantomhive ring with his thumb, thoughtfully. "And the codes?"

"Papa taught me. He thought it would be good to know."

Silence stretched for a few minutes. She thought Sebastian might have already made his decision; he was watching Ciel the same way she was, waiting for confirmation of an idea that had been barely blossomed in the back of her mind when she thought of visiting Rebecca Beddor. Lizzy made an impatient noise, and stood once more. "I'm not a child, Ciel, to be kept safe in a cage of nursery rhymes. This is my fate, Ciel. I'm part of it, whether you like it or not. And no matter what you may think, I am not a weakling."

Ciel measured her with his gaze for a moment, studying her from the top of her head down to her toes. She fought back the flush that threatened to rise to her cheeks, and waited for him to finish. Next to her, Paula was shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Lizzy frowned, guilty; she had never meant to bring the maid this deep into the situation with the Beddors, or this far into the truth, but Paula was here now and that was an end to it. She would make the offer, though. If Paula wanted to leave her service, go and make a life for herself with her husband away from the treachery and the deeds of the Evil Noblemen, then she deserved that. Lizzy wouldn't stop her.

_Though I will miss her. I will miss her terribly._

"No," Ciel said in an odd voice. "No. That you definitely are not."

Shock made her stare. Lizzy cleared her throat. After a handful of heartbeats, he let out a long breath, and set a hand on his hip.

"You're not going to give up this idea, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

"And nothing I say will make you change your mind."

"No."

"Well, you're stubborn, at least." He frowned at her. "You'll still be meeting with Rebecca Beddor in a few days?"

"And going to her birthday party." She smiled at him. "I'll be dressed as Odile."

"Odile?" He sent a questioning look at Sebastian, who cleared his throat politely.

"The black swan from the ballet  _Swan Lake_ , sir. The daughter of the magician who bewitches Prince Siegfried." Sebastian eyed her. "If you don't mind me asking, my lady, why Odile?"

"Black looks better on me. I go dreadfully pallid in white."

Ciel coughed, and turned away. She rather thought he might have been hiding laughter. After a moment, he looked back at her, and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

"Well?" she asked.

"Come," he said. "I'll take you back to the townhouse."

* * *

"I'm sorry I involved you in that, Paula." Lizzy said, once they were alone in Lizzy's room and Paula was helping her undo her hair from the tight braid she'd put it up in. They'd both needed tea; she'd gone all shaky once she was back in the safety of her rooms, and Paula had vanished for half an hour, probably to find her husband. Lizzy couldn't blame her. Paula's hands stilled on her hair for a moment.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Lizzy. I was warned by the Lady Frances that this might eventually happen."

"My mother warned you?"

"While you were gone. It might be three years until the actual marriage, my lady said, but if she knew you at all you wouldn't be waiting. Especially not after your trip with the Marquis." Paula laughed. "After all, you've never been patient, Miss Lizzy."

Lizzy felt the tips of her ears go hot. "I shouldn't have involved you, though. I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology, miss, but only because you'll keep making it if I don't. I knew something like this would happen, ever since you left for the continent with my lord the marquis. And I've decided to stay, miss, and that's all that needs to be said about it."

Lizzy bit her lip, and fought back tears. That was one thing she didn't deserve. She caught Paula's hand and held it. "Thank you."

Paula leaned forward, and set her chin on Lizzy's shoulder, knocking their temples together. They stayed like that until Lizzy managed to blink back the stinging in her eyes; then she cleared her throat and pulled back, and Paula said, "There's one thing I don't understand, miss."

"That being?"

"My lord Phantomhive never gave you an answer. But you were smiling when we left."

"Was I?" She may have been. It was a bit of a blur, to be honest.

"Yes, miss. Like you were a cat who had managed to get into the cream."

"Well, in a way, I had."

"Eh?" Paula pulled back. Lizzy took a pair of ribbons from the top of her dressing table, the emerald green ones she'd bought in Paris, and held them up to her hair, thoughtfully.

"He asked if I'm still meeting with Rebecca Beddor, didn't he?"

"So?"

"So, Paula, that means that he's given me tacit permission." Lizzy turned, and put the ribbons into her maid's hands. "I'd like these braided into my hair, please. And on the night of the party, I think we'll use the black ribbons. We've a week and a half to make a suitable costume. We'll have to call Nina Hopkins. She'll have a ball designing it, and there's no one else who will be able to have one made so fast—at least, if she decides to take me back, considering…" Lizzy gestured at her chest, and then sighed. "You know, I don't think I've ever threatened Ciel before. If it always gets that reaction, then I might have to do it more often."

Paula took the ribbons with wide eyes, but said nothing more, and Lizzy wondered if she was being too cheerful about this. If she was, then it was just an indicator of how much she'd grown into her confidence.

She pulled open the drawer of her dressing table and took out the packages that she'd been carrying since Venice. One, a book of fine rich paper from Brussels, was for Paula. The other, a small enamel box from Venice, was for Ciel. She weighed the gift for Ciel in one hand, and then handed Paula her present. "Open that later. And remind me, Paula, to teach you how to use that hairpin. I don't think you'd like learning the swords, but you need to at least be able to defend yourself."

Once Edward came back, she could have his butler teach Paula some hand-to-hand defense as well. But she would bring this on gradually.

"After tea, shall we go down to Piccadilly and go shopping? I saw a parasol in one of the stores on our way back home that was absolutely darling." And the millinery next door was Papa's connection for the deadly hatpins. She would have to buy a few for Paula, and two more for herself.  _Hatpins. Who would have thought?_

"Yes, miss,” Paula said.

 _I will be the wife of the Queen's Watchdog_ , she told herself.  _Now, at least, I fit the part I've been trying to play._

But she would not lose herself in the process.


	5. His Fiancée, Investigating

"You never told me what Damian Beddor is doing, Ciel,” Lizzy said later. It was two days later, after her tea with Rebecca Beddor, and he'd sent another note:  _There is a gun waiting for you at the manor._  She told Mama that she was going out with Rebecca again (she doubted that Frances would approve with Lizzy going out to the Phantomhive Estate unescorted, now that she was sixteen) and ignored the way Papa winked at her. Clearly, Ciel had been in touch.

"Keep your elbow bent. It has more of a kick than you realize and you don't want to snap it in two." He tapped her elbow, and she automatically loosened her grip on the gun, letting her arm relax.

The gun was small, but it was surprisingly heavy, and she shifted her hand before lifting it up and aiming. They were out at the shooting range, which basically meant that she was aiming at a brick wall with a target pointed on it. She didn't remember it being there when she'd left the manor house last week. It had taken them over an hour to get out here in the first place; he'd insisted on teaching her how to clean and load the thing first, and even though she knew that was probably the best way to go about it—you didn't truly know a weapon until you took it apart and put it back together—he'd also been evading her questions the whole. Blasted. Time.

Frankly, she was about ready to shoot him. But she kept the gun pointed at the brick wall.

"Keep your thumb pointing forward, and cup the bottom of the handle with your other hand. It gives you more accuracy that way."

"Ciel—"

"Don't close your eyes before you fire, you'll lose focus. And you have more accuracy if you use both eyes, anyway, so just don't shut them at all."

"Do I have to hold a sword to your throat every time I want you to answer a question?" she asked, crossly. Ciel remained cool and impassive; in fact, he hadn't been anything other than cool and impassive since she'd arrived, and she rather thought that was her own fault. You simply can't draw a sword on someone and expect them to be all roses and violets afterwards. She'd been too impatient, just like Mama was always warning her not to be, and it had cost her. She swore silently, and retreated.

 _But you can't deny it gave you what you wanted,_  a little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

 _I don't want to have to keep fighting with him just to get what I want._ For an instant, she wished herself back into fourteen, adorable fourteen where the only thing that mattered to her had been…well, making sure Ciel was safe and happy. Now she was doing the same thing, only a different way, and the new way wasn't working either.

 _Maybe I haven't grown up as much as I thought I have,_  she thought, and then shook that idea right out of her head. She would just have to find a different way.

Once, when she had been very small, Ciel had said something, or done something to upset her; she couldn't remember what. She'd gone running, crying, to her aunts (because there was no solace from Mama when it came to that sort of thing), and they'd looked at each other for a moment before Rachel had gathered her up in her lap and said, "Can we tell you a secret, dear heart?"

"It's a good one,” Angelina had said.

She'd looked at both of them, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and nodded. Rachel had smiled, and pulled Lizzy's thumb out of her mouth again, gently.

"Sometimes men can be dreadful clods, darling,” Angelina said. " _Especially_ if they think that their manliness is being called into question."

"I wouldn't say that, Anne."

"Well, that's because you've married the saint, haven't you, Rachel?" Aunt Anne said, and smiled a bit. Her lipstick had been very red, just like always.

Rachel blushed a bit. "Not really."

"Naughty of you, dear, to talk about it in front of the woodchuck,” Anne teased. She plucked a rose from the nearest bush and tucked it into Lizzy's wild curly hair. "Regardless of your aunt and uncle, darling, you have to stand your ground with men. But you have to do it in a way that makes you look like you're giving in, you see?"

She thought about it for a moment. "No."

"You will eventually.” Aunt Anne smiled. "You'll have to, with Ciel."

"Anne!"

"Ciel's as stubborn as you are, Rachel, and that's the truth of it." Aunt Anne looked at Lizzy again, and cupped her cheek in one hand. "Remember who you should be, darling girl. You are the sweet thing men come home to in the evening. You remember what I told you?"

"Yes."

"That's a tool, sweetheart, a very powerful tool. And when you use it properly, you never know what might come of it. So when a man is being a clod, you remember that. And you use it."

She rather thought she might have to use that now.

"Never mind. I apologize." She lifted the pistol again, cupping the base of the handle with her free hand, and wondered why it suddenly felt so heavy. "I've been behaving dreadfully over the past few days. But I do think, Ciel, that if I'm going to help you with this case—or whatever it is you call them—I should at least know enough not to get myself killed."

"I thought you were perfectly capable of defending yourself," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"That doesn't mean I want to rush blindly into a situation that could end up being a dangerous one."

"Noted." He studied her form, and then nodded. "You can fire now."

Ciel was right—the recoil  _was_ stronger than she'd expected. She had to take a step or two back when the bullet left the gun, and it threw her aim off; she still hit the brick wall, but it was in the painted ring furthest from the target. She set the gun on the table, and massaged her aching wrist. "Ow."

"Told you it had a kick, Lizzy."

"You don't have to remind me, Sir Know-It-All, I've come to that conclusion perfectly well on my own." She said, and then nearly clapped her hand out of her mouth. She  _never_  talked to Ciel that way. He'd always been too proud to take her teasing very well. He didn't smile, but he didn't scowl at her either, and she realized, for the first time, that he was relaxed around her. He never relaxed, not around anybody other than Sebastian, who was still up in the house keeping an eye on Maylene, Finny, and Bard. Paula was up at the house too, gossiping with Maylene, probably, and her husband, Michael, was taking care of the horses.

She had had to leave Beatrice here. There was no place in London to keep her; or, actually, there was, but nowhere that Lizzy trusted more than the stables out at the Phantomhive Estate. She could have kept her at the Middleford Estate, but that was further away from London than she could go in an afternoon, and she wanted access to her horse. She meant to go out riding after this was over. She'd missed the spoiled mare.

Lizzy collected the gun again. "Do I have to do anything?"

"No, you put a few bullets in it. It should have rotated automatically. Just cock it, and you should be fine." He held out a hand. "Do you mind?"

This was almost scaring her now. He was asking. He was  _asking permission_ , for the second time in a row, to handle one of her weapons. Wordlessly, she shook her head, and offered him the revolver, and without a word he raised the gun, took aim, and fired three times in quick succession. The sound made her ears hurt. Small puffs of red dust rose from the brick wall, all of them near the center; he'd hit the bulls-eye. Lizzy checked his expression—still impassive—and huffed. "All right, show-off, give it back."

"Are you going to threaten me with that parasol of yours if I don't?"

"I might." She eyed him. "Ciel Phantomhive, are you flirting with me?"

Now it was his turn to huff, and cough, and look away, and she thought she saw his ears go pink. It was the first time in many years since she'd seen the New Ciel act anything like the Old Ciel, the innocent, playful Ciel that had been lost when the old manor had burned down, and she had to say she rather liked getting this reaction out of him. " _No_."

"You  _are—_ "

"No!"

"—or teasing at the very least."

"I am not." It would have sounded petulant if he hadn't switched back to his stone face.

"Well, I think it's a good thing." She raised the gun, and waited for a long moment before firing again, judging angles and preparing herself for the recoil. This time she was ready for it, and relaxed into it, letting it vibrate up her arms, and the puff of brick dust was half-again as close to the center as it had been. "You're much too serious all the time, Ciel. I know that you're the only heir to the Phantomhive Estate, and I know that there's a great deal weighing on you, but you're not alone anymore. Do you know that?"

She didn't know what she'd said, but his face closed off instantly. His visible eye chilled. "No one is anything other than alone, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth. Not Lizzy. She'd definitely upset him. Lizzy wavered for a moment, and then let him retreat into his thoughts, and fired the gun once more, emptying it of bullets. The shot went wide, clipped the edge of the brick wall, and vanished into the thicket, sending a cacophony of birds up into the sky. She hoped she hadn't killed a rabbit. She set it on the table again, and began to reload. The box of cartridges shook in her hands. No matter how much she'd traveled, and no matter how many people she'd spoken to, she'd never met anyone who could make her feel like even talking to them about innocent things was like walking through a minefield.

 _What happened to you? What_ happened _to you in all those months that you vanished off the face of the earth, to change so much from the boy I remember, the one which trusted and loved others without a moment's thought?_

"I don't think anyone's alone," she blurted. When he looked at her, eyebrows raised, Lizzy added, "That is, unless they want to be. Unless they make themselves that way."

To her horror, she felt the all-too-familiar prickle in her throat, the heat behind her eyes. She blinked furiously, and set the gun down again. "I'm sorry. I don't mean…I'm sorry."

She'd left her bag back at the house; her handkerchief was tucked in that. She fought a sniffle, and thought of whatever she could that reminded her of laughter—Edward tripping over his own foil during a practice duel, Aunt Anne playing dollhouse with her when she'd been very small, anything, but the prickling remained. She coughed, and turned away to surreptitiously dab at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I think…I think the brick dust is bothering me."

"Well, here's one way you haven't changed, at least," Ciel said, and offered her his handkerchief. She looked at it for a moment, and then at him, wide-eyed; she felt a tear slip down her cheek. "You still cry over every little thing, Lizzy."

There was no point in denying this. She took the handkerchief, and hid her face in it. "Thank you."

They were both silent for a moment. Lizzy sniffled, and surreptitiously pinched the inside of her wrist. _Stop. Crying. Now._  It worked, miraculously; she sucked in a breath, dabbed her eyes again, and then offered him the cloth back. Ciel waved it off, and finished reloading the gun.

"Keep it, I have another one." He offered the revolver. "You seem to have a good eye, but you need to practice until you can hit the inner rings nine times out of ten. And you won't do it this afternoon, either, so pace yourself."

She cast a dubious look at the faraway brick wall. "That'll take a lot of bullets."

"I own a lot of bullets."

"Well, then." Lizzy hefted the gun in both hands. "We should get to it, shouldn't we?"

* * *

 

Lizzy caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and let out a long breath. Nina had taken one look at her when Lizzy had walked back into her shop in Regent Street and lost her head. ("You're back! You're  _back_ , my darling, and you finally have a  _figure_!") It had taken over an hour to get the seamstress to calm down enough to place her simple costume order.

She should have known by now, however, that no order placed with Nina Hopkins ever turned out to be 'simple.'

The dress was made of black velvet, with frills of black lace around the cuffs and shoulder straps; it bared her throat and collarbone, exposing more skin than Mama would have ever dreamt of allowing. It clung to her sides and hips, flaring out at the back over the bustle, but not too much; smaller bustles were in fad, thank God, and it made it easier for her to wander. The skirt fell in rippling layers, not wide and poufy, but close in to her legs; it was layered over with more lace, creating a delicate pattern that looked like wings. Just like she'd wanted, Paula had braided black ribbons into her hair, which had been swept up to the back of her head and left to hang, curled tight, tickling her spine.

Her mask was just as delicate, hiding half her face; a swan's head made of beads and cloth rested like a coronet over her forehead and bangs. Swans wings arced back over her ears to meet at the back of her skull, layered with dark feathers. Her gloves were long and black, extending all the way up her arms, almost to the straps of her gown; a black velvet choker had been wrapped around her throat. It gleamed with a blue stone; a sapphire.

 _I shouldn't have let her go this far._  Lizzy thought. She seized her stole—more black, with splashes of gold brocade—and wrapped it around her shoulders, pinning it closed with a silver brooch in the shape of a swan. _Mama will murder me if she sees me._

"Is everything all right, Miss Lizzy?"

"Fine," she said, and her voice was a bit higher than normal. She coughed, and fumbled her mask onto her face. It ended up lopsided. Hiding a smile, Paula took the strings and bound them tight behind her head, under her wave of blonde hair. "Not fine,” Lizzy added, and adjusted the mask. "Not fine at all."

"You'll do well, my lady. We have a distraction,” Paula said. She was wearing a costume as well, but one that was much less ambitious; she was a woman of the Bedouin tribes, all in black, from her head to her feet, hair covered, a multicolored scarf pinned tight over her face. Only her eyes were showing, and they were crinkled in half a smile. She lowered her voice. "And you invited my lord Phantomhive for a reason, didn't you?"

"Yes. But—"

A soft knock on the door. Lizzy cleared her throat. "Enter."

"Your carriage is here, my lady." It was Phillips. The woman bobbed a bit, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor just as always. "My lord marquis directed me to tell you that the gentleman inside does not like to be kept waiting."

 _Well, of course he doesn't._  Lizzy ignored the light scold in Phillip's voice. "Thank you, Phillips. You may go."

"It is a bit improper for you to be alone in a carriage with your fiancé, Miss Lizzy,” Paula said, as soon as the door was shut and Phillips' footsteps had faded away down the hall. "I'm sure you'll set the whole of Town on its ear if this gets out."

"Well, that's why you're coming along, Paula. You're a respectable married woman, and Mama trusts you. She trusts me too, for that matter, but…society will trust you more because Mama pays you and not me."

Paula still looked dubious at this idea, but shrugged, and attempted to curtsy. Her costume didn't allow for much of a one. "If you say so, Miss Lizzy."

Lizzy wasn't sure how she could respond to that one. After a moment, she brushed at her skirt, beating away imaginary dust, and let out a long breath. "Well, shall we go?"

"Yes, miss."

The musicians were playing a surprisingly lively version of Beethoven's fifth when she finally made it to the party, and she fixed the mask tight on her face, hoping that the gleaming stones that had been set into the black feathers would stay. Her hand, for the moment, was tucked into the crook of Ciel's elbow. She spotted Rebecca instantly: the girl was trapped, quivering, by the wall because of the sheer amount of people that had shown up for her birthday. The moment word had spread that Lizzy Middleford, who had been mysteriously absent from Society for a year, would be attending Rebecca Beddor's birthday party, a flood of RSVPs had graced the Beddors’ mail pile. Rebecca looked rather like she’d been hit over the head with a hammer.

Lizzy caught Rebecca's eye, pointed at an alcove with her fan, and whispered in Ciel's ear, "That's Beddor. In the raja costume with the gold monocle."

He nodded, brought her hand to his lips, and vanished into the crowd. She fought the spike of guilt at the sight of Rebecca's face, and thought back to the conversation she'd had with Ciel during the impromptu ride through the forest on the Phantomhive estate.

"To be frank, despite Sebastian's best efforts, we're not entirely sure  _what_ Damian Beddor is doing, other than the fact that it has a lot to do with opium poppies,” Ciel had said, reining his horse back by the edge of the river that Lizzy had always called the Thames. Beatrice had jumped the stream as if it were nothing, and she'd pranced for a few minutes; Lizzy had had to pull her back under control before she could answer.

"The flowers used to make opium?"

"And laudanum, morphine, and heroin, among other things." He eyed her bay mare. "Are you sure that horse is safe?"

"Perfectly. I've handled her for months now, Ciel. She just needs to relearn her manners." Lizzy pulled tight on the left rein, forcing Beatrice into a circle. Ciel watched her circle for a moment before continuing.

"He could be doing any number of things with the poppies. The point is, he has his hands on enough of them to worry the Queen."

"How can poppies worry the Queen?"

"Economic reasons. There's more than enough opium in the country right now. If Beddor finds a way to synthesize the pods into the drug here in England, then thousands more could become addicted. And it's a very expensive habit."

She looked back at him. "Is that the only reason?"

"Does she need more than one reason?"

"The more opium we export to China, the more money the crown makes. Just because Beddor might sell to people living in England, that doesn't mean Her Majesty should get in a twist about it." Lizzy frowned.  _He still thinks I'm a fool._  "There's another reason, isn't there?"

He grimaced at her. "They're only rumors."

"Rumors interest me."

"They say—"

"Who says?"

"I'd rather you not know that."

She scowled at him.

"They say," Ciel continued, ignoring her frown, "that the reason Beddor is importing so many poppies is to fill his own coffers. They say he's pouring money into something big. The rats are scuttling for their holes. Her Majesty wishes to know  _exactly_  what is draining Beddor's funds, and whether or not it's dangerous. Which is precisely why I didn't want you involved," he added, mildly enough considering his glower.

"Without me you would have never been invited to this party. Now, listen." She cast an automatic glance over her shoulder. "I've been there often enough that I know the layout of the house. I can look around while you talk to Beddor."

"No."

"I'll take Sebastian with me."

" _No_."

"Oh, for God's sake, Ciel. You'll get caught. I won't."

"I've never been caught before."

"There's a first time for everything, you realize."

"I said no, Lizzy."

And now she was fuming, because the library was fifteen feet away and Sebastian was watching her in order to make sure she didn't step anywhere near it. Lizzy smiled brightly at Rebecca, linked arms with the younger girl, and turned her back on the butler. "Darling, you look wonderful. I told you the red would be the perfect shade for you."

"S-S-So do you,” Rebecca said shyly. She was the Queen of Hearts from  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ ; her scepter was exquisite. "W-Was that your fiancé who came in with you?"

"Yes. I told you I was able to convince him. It was an uphill battle, though; Ciel doesn't often come to parties. He's quite private."

"Oh." She frowned a bit. "N-Nothing like my fiancé."

"You're engaged to be married?" But Rebecca was more than a year younger than Lizzy, just turning fourteen. It wasn't unheard of, but it was a little rare. "I didn't know."

"N-Nobody does. Oh, you mustn't tell anyone. M-Mama will be so c-cross. It's supposed to be a secret."

"No, I wouldn't dream of it. Who is he?"

"O-One of my father's p-p-partners. In business." She looked miserable at the very thought. "A Mr. Yates."

Lizzy remembered Yates. He was forty if he was a day. Her heart twisted in her chest. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry."

Rebecca tightened her grip on Lizzy's arm, and offered her half a wan smile. "N-No, don't be. Besides, we won't marry until I'm a-at least sixteen. And besides—I have my d-d-duty. To the family."

 _Not really. It's not as though your family is an ancient and honorable one._  She kept that between her teeth, though. Lizzy glanced over her shoulder. Ciel was talking with Beddor. Of course. Other than her, he was probably the highest rank here.  _Marquis usurp earls, after all._ "Is he here tonight?"

"No. H-He's in India."

Paula tapped her shoulder twice. Sebastian had vanished into the crowd. She stared at the library door for a second, and then everything clicked.  _Now or never, girl._ "Well, then, Becca, we shall find someone to dance with you. You've been practicing, remember? You're much better than you were and you deserve a dance with a handsome boy before you marry that stodgy old man."

Rebecca colored bright pink behind the mask. "Oh, but—"

"Don't argue with me, there are plenty of them here. Just because I'm stuck with  _my_ fiancé for the first and last dances doesn't mean  _you_  have to be."

"Miss Elizabeth—"

"I've told you to call me Lizzy."

"Lizzy, I couldn't."

"You  _can_. That boy in the detective costume has been eyeing you since I came in." She thought he might be one of the Washbourne boys. There were too many of them for her to remember his name. Lizzy snapped open her fan, tilting it towards her face, and nudged Rebecca in the side. "Come on. _Carpe diem_ , Rebecca! _Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas; carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero_."

"Eh?"

"While we're talking, envious time is fleeing. Seize the day and put no trust in the future."

Rebecca looked at her with wide eyes.

"Don't live your life as one big regret, Rebecca darling. Seize the day! The worst thing that could happen is he could say no, and then he'll be the one ridiculed for insulting the birthday girl at her own party." She glanced over her shoulder again. The door was still free. "Go on, you don't need me to have fun."

"Yes,” Rebecca said dazedly, and wandered off. Lizzy rather thought Paula was hiding laughter. Lizzy flushed to the tips of her ears.

"Well, it's true!"

She glanced back at Ciel—he and Sebastian had withdrawn to the corner of the room, to watch Beddor—and turned the knob on the library door. Paula followed her inside.

It was quiet here in the library, despite the chatter of the people out in the main hall and dining room and…well, everywhere else. Apparently nobody had dared to break through into Beddor's inner sanctum. She leaned against the back of the door, staring at the books for a long moment. She'd only had glimpses of this place before, through the form of her friend's father. He never let anyone in here except himself and his associates; Rebecca and Rebecca's mother, Maria, were utterly forbidden from entering.

Lizzy let out a long breath, and began to pick over the desk.

There were the typical papers. Lists of silks. Dress patterns. Lists of factory workers. She ran her finger down the names, and nothing jumped out at her. There was a set of keys on the top of the desk; she grabbed them and tried them on the locked drawers.

More lists of names, more files on factories, and nothing had anything at all to do with opium. She closed the bottom drawer, bit her lip, and headed for the bookshelf. Paula shifted anxiously by the door. "Miss, we don't have much time."

"I know, Paula." She studied the books, running her fingers over the titles. A map of Japan was hung from the wall. More and more and more on Cathay, on Japan, on Vietnam and Burma. More and more and more.

There was a notebook tucked in between a book on the Silk Road and a book on Japanese picture writing. She pulled it out, and opened it. Mechanical diagrams. She didn't know what they were for, but the word  _poppy_ burst out of the page at her. She closed it and tucked it under her arm.

"Miss Lizzy!" Paula was practically hopping from foot to foot. "We have to  _go_!"

"You go, Paula, I'll only be a moment longer." She thought there was something behind the books. Paula gave her an anguished look, and then bolted out of the room, and the door shut behind her. Lizzy went on her tiptoes, peeled off her glove, and reached deeper into the crevice behind the books. There was a cloth case, rectangular, by the feel of the contours. She angled it a bit, and wrenched it out.

The doorknob turned. She stared at it for a moment, her mind blank with terror. It rattled for a second, and she heard a voice. "Damn thing is stuck again. Hold on. I'll get the key."

She had a moment, a second, to hide; bookshelf, no, chair, no, desk,  _definitely_  not, and then she saw the wardrobe tucked into the corner and dove for it.

She had barely closed the door behind her when she heard the doorknob rattle again, and the click of the lock. Footsteps. Voices. Male voices. "Here we are, gentlemen. Make yourselves at home."

Lizzy peeped through the crack in the wardrobe door. Two, four, five, six. Six people, plus Beddor. The man looked as nervous as Lizzy had ever seen him, the first time he'd walked in on his daughter and found her waltzing with Miss Elizabeth Middleford, daughter of the Marquis Middleford.

The case was slipping in her sweaty hand. Her glove was clutched tight in her free hand. She sagged against the back of the wardrobe, and wondered if they could hear how fast her heart was pounding.

_Now what, Lizzy darling? Now what are you going to do?_


	6. His Fiancée, In Dutch

"Young master, we may have a problem."

Sebastian spoke very quietly, almost too quietly for Ciel to hear. He also spoke in German, which had been one of several languages the butler had taken it upon himself to give Ciel an education in; Italian had been the second, and Greek the third, though admittedly that was modern Greek and not ancient Greek.

The fact that his butler had actually offered to teach him ancient Greek had driven home, yet again, that his butler was not just preternaturally talented, but simply preternatural. The fact was striking him more and more often lately, as his hunt for the murderer of his parents closed in on a target. No name, of course, but he was close to a breakthrough. He could just feel it.

Ciel tipped his hat down over his eyes. It had been Sebastian's idea, of course, for Ciel to dress up as a vampire. Though he doubted anyone could actually tell he was a vampire unless they checked the blood spots on his collar. The fangs were artfully done, though. He had to admit that much. "I don't like problems, Sebastian."

"I believe Lady Elizabeth has disobeyed orders."

Of course she had. Ciel gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. Lizzy specialized in disobeying orders. He'd been a fool for thinking that just once, he'd be able to use her in a way that would  _not_  drive him absolutely insane. "You were supposed to be watching her."

"Forgive me, young master. I became distracted with locating Beddor."

And Lizzy had been waiting for a chance just like that. Coincidence? With Sebastian? Ciel frowned. "Sebastian."

"Yes, young master?"

"Was her chance deliberately made?"

Sebastian kept his face cool and impassive. "She had a perfectly valid point, sir."

"You let her in!"

"Naturally."

"Against my direct orders!"

"The orders were given to your fiancée, sir, not to me." Sebastian bowed a little, a smile playing around his lips that reminded Ciel of a cat that had spotted prey. "She went quite far to prove her point, young master."

 _Damn loopholes_. Ciel glared at the butler. He was getting reminders more and more often lately that this man that looked so much like his father was, in fact, not human. The look in his eyes now definitely wasn't. And he wasn't sure why he was surprised by that. Or, he was, but he didn't want to think about why.

_I cannot afford second thoughts now. Not now, not ever._

"Ah,” Sebastian said, and lifted a hand. It was Paula—or who Ciel assumed was Paula, considering the woman was completely drenched in black with her face hidden behind a veil. She curtsied, nervously, her eyes flicking between Ciel and Sebastian. "And here comes the cavalry."

Paula glared at Sebastian. Paula, one of the quietest maids Ciel had ever encountered, actually  _glared_  at his demonic butler, fists clenched, sparks practically flying off of her skin. If the situation hadn't been so incredibly irritating, Ciel might have laughed. As it was, his plan wasn't just unraveling, it was being torn apart at the seams, and there was no time for humor. "Where is she?"

Paula didn't bother to lie. "Hiding, my lord. I'm not sure where. But she's in the library."

"And you didn't get her out of there?"

"How could I, my lord, when I'm not even supposed to  _be here_?" she snapped. Her hands were shaking. "She told me to leave. I barely managed to get out of sight myself."

The last time they'd been discovered eavesdropping on anything to do with Damian Beddor, Ciel had ended up with a fractured rib. It still stung, making it difficult to take a deep breath. There had been too many of them for Sebastian to stop the bruiser in time. They'd strapped him up, so that there was less pain then there probably should have been, but he could still feel it whenever he took a breath. It was aggravating. He swallowed back an acidic retort. "You realize that if she's discovered eavesdropping, we will have an incredible problem on our hands."

"Is that all you care about? She could be in danger, they could kill her—"

"They won't kill her,” Ciel said, with more firmness than he actually felt. "She's the daughter of a marquis, for God's sake. If she disappeared, everyone would know about it."

"That doesn't make it any better!"

"Young master, may I speak?"

Paula must have realized exactly who she was arguing when Sebastian spoke. Her mouth snapped shut, and she pinned the cloth over her face again, casting her eyes down towards the floor. She even bobbed into half of a semblance of a curtsy. "Excuse me, my lord. I forgot myself."

Ciel ignored her. "What, Sebastian?"

"This incident may prove to be more beneficial than we anticipated,” Sebastian said. "With the Lady Elizabeth concealed inside of the library, we have a perfect opportunity to discover as much as possible about whatever the inhabitants are discussing."

"Well, obviously,” Ciel snapped. "That's beside the point, Sebastian. We need to get her out of there. She's not equipped—"

"She has a fan,” Paula said abruptly. Ciel and Sebastian looked at her together; Ciel was momentarily stunned speechless.

"A  _fan_?"

"A heavy fan. With knives in it."

" _Knives_?" he said, and then swallowed back his shock. He'd been reduced to a parrot. By Lizzy. He didn't like this feeling.

Paula hesitated, and then her hands clasped together, playing with the wedding ring on her finger. "And…I think a few of her rings…I think they're poisonous, my lord. I don't know what else she's carrying; I don't think she has her sword with her. But…" Paula shrugged. "There could be…other things."

Lizzy had taken the gun with her when she'd left Phantomhive Manor. She might not have accurate aim, but she at least knew how to shoot it. If she had it with her…Ciel relaxed infinitesimally. "We're not here to start a war."

"She can take care of herself, my lord,” Paula said. "That's all I'm saying."

"In a fight—"

"She can take care of herself," repeated Paula, word by word. "And she is quite good at it." Now that she had someone else to manage, she was less panicked herself. It was a relief to know that he wouldn't have to deal with another hysterical female. "But if they discover her, my lord—"

"They will not harm her,” Sebastian said, and cocked his head a bit. His eyes were fixed on the library door. "I think your fiancée has proved a bit more…creative than expected, young master."

"What do you mean?" Ciel began to ask, and then out of the corner of his eye he saw the library door open. Elizabeth Middleford swanned out, her right hand tucked into the crook of Damian Beddor's elbow, her fan snapped open and flirting in front of her face. She looked like a cat in the cream; as he watched, she leaned over and whispered something to Beddor, who nodded with an expression that rather looked as though he'd just been knocked over the head with Undertaker's shovel.

Lizzy turned to one of the other men who had followed her and Beddor out of the library—Ciel thought his name was Parker; an American in town for business—and held her hand out to him. He was taller than she was, maybe by half a foot, and behind the mask he was probably despicably good-looking. Without a word, Parker took Lizzy's hand and lifted it to his lips, holding it for a second longer than was proper or necessary. Lizzy laughed, smacked his arm with her closed fan (the man winced in surprise; Ciel ground his teeth) and pulled away, curtsying to the pair of them. As soon as the men had gone back into the library, she literally strutted her way across the hall to join Ciel, Sebastian, and Paula, and sent Ciel a cheeky smile.

"My lord Phantomhive,” she said. Her eyes were dancing. "You'll never guess my new project."

That settled it. Ciel was going to kill her.

* * *

She didn't expect it to work out the way it had.

Lizzy pressed herself against the back of the wardrobe to hide behind the coats, hating the bustle that was pushing her forward. The cupboard smelled of leather and animal fur, which had always made her sneeze, but if she sneezed here things wouldn't work out very well. Not well at all. Not with seven secretive men plotting on the other side of the wardrobe door.

 _All right, Lizzy. Think. Think._ What could she do other than wait them out? It wasn't as though she could magic herself out of the wardrobe. She went to bite her thumbnail and then remembered that she was wearing gloves. Or one glove. The other one was clenched tight in her free hand, which, she realized, was trembling. The book on mechanical things was cold against her chest. Her corset was making it difficult for her to take a full breath. She pinched the inside of her wrist.  _Calm down_.  _Listen._

"Beddor!" One of the other men—tall, thickset, in a full lion mask—snapped, and hit the table with his ham-like fist. The whole crowd quieted, like a flock of startled sheep. "Why call us here? This location isn't safe. We should have returned to Surrey."

"This is too immediate a problem to wait for the full moon,” Beddor said, in a bit of a quavery voice. He looked nervous still, fiddling with his cravat and the monocle. He looked more than a bit ridiculous in his raja costume as well. Lizzy scowled a bit.  _Prince Soma never dressed like that!_  "There are reasons for concern that the program is being infiltrated—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Zygos!" The man in the lion mask said, and dropped down into a chair. Lizzy rather thought the chair groaned in protest. "Not this again!"

"There were people in the factory snooping around, Leon, there's no other alternative that I can think of!"

"We entrusted the factory to you because you assured us that you would be able to continue the manufacturing of the items we need without causing undue alarm among your employees, Zygos." One of the other men, dressed in a dark cloak with a pale cream half-mask, settled in another chair, and steepled his fingers. His legs were as long as the Thames, all covered in black silk, and his eyes were brilliant green. He sounded American. In spite of herself, Lizzy swallowed. Her hands clenched the book tighter, and, as quietly as possible, she slipped it into her deep skirt pocket. "Are you telling us now that you can't handle it, Zygos?"

"No,” Beddor replied instantly, but his eyes widened a bit. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all! All I'm saying is we should be more cautious—"

"Cautious!" The lion-man snapped. "Being cautious won't get us opium, Beddor! Caution won't finish this project! Bloody coward—"

"Leon." A man in a mask that was painted with a pair of dancing fish lifted a pale hand. He was only as tall as Ciel, but much older; his hair gleamed white from behind the mask. "Calm yourself. As far as I can see, there's no true issue here."

"But—" Beddor began. The brunette in the chair with those brilliant green eyes leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, and began to whistle Yankee Doodle.

Lizzy's nose began to itch.

_Oh, hell._

"Irrelevant concerns, Zygos, have no place in this room," said the fish-man. The other men—all of them had animals of some kind, she realized, on their clothes or in their costumes—shifted and mumbled and nodded agreement. "Simply upgrade the security on your factories. If that doesn't work,  _then_  we may have cause to worry ourselves about it. But for now, it can keep until the full moon."

Beddor mouthed a few words. " _Upgrade security_? This has nothing to do with security! This has everything to do with the fact that the  _men I saw in my factory were a boy and his butler_!"

Dead silence at these words.

"A boy,” the fish-man said.

"And his butler," the lion-man added. The American looked puzzled.

"Y'all are seriously finding this to be a problem?" His drawl reminded her of the southern states. Lizzy rather thought he might have been a Texan. "Just some dopey kid and his butler?"

"Don't you remember?" Beddor said. "Don't you remember what happened when Jack the Ripper was terrorizing London? Don't you remember—"

"We remember!"

"Do you have any proof?" the man with the goat-horns attached to his forehead said. Beddor gulped.

"Proof? The proof is in what I'm telling you! The Evil Nobles—"

"So to get this straight. You saw an immaculately dressed butler waiting on his fifteen-year-old charge, possibly serving him tea, the way the stories go—and they were trying to break into the factory."

Silence again. The American began to whistle again. The song arced through her head.  _Father and I went down to camp, along with Captain Gooding—_

"Well, no,” Beddor admitted. "But it was a man and a boy and their ages fit—"

_—and there we saw the men and boys as thick as hasty pudding—_

"So far as I can tell, the Earl Phantomhive is a guest at this fete of yours, Beddor. Did you invite him?"

"No, he's…" He scrambled for words. "It's just—"

_—Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle dandy—_

"So you saw what  _may_ have been a man and a boy that  _might_ fit the description of the Earl Ciel Phantomhive and his butler."

Beddor gulped. He wavered. Then his head bobbed. "Yes."

She could feel the sneeze building. Lizzy seized her nose, and hoped she wouldn't choke.  _Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze don't sneeze don't sneeze._

_—mind the music and the step and with the girls be handy!_

"As far as I can tell, we have no real cause for concern," the fish-man said dismissively, and stood. "Don't bother us again, Zygos."

"But—"

"The production will be going on schedule?"

Beddor winced. "…yes."

"And you'll wait until the full moon for this conversation to continue," said a third man, who had no animal, but a nubile maiden embroidered on his Japanese emperor robes.

_Don't sneeze don't sneeze don'tsneezedon'tsneezedon'tsneeze—_

"Of course."

She sneezed.

Or, rather, she almost sneezed. She still made a noise. It was a strange noise, half choke, half squeak, and when she opened her eyes she realized the entire room was staring at her cabinet. All the blood drained from her face. She fingered her fan, twisting it in her hands. If she had to, she could snap it open and slash throats. She didn't particularly want to—killing was disgusting, and plus it would get blood on her Nina Hopkins original and that would drive Nina batty—but she would have to if they tried to kill her.

The whistling American stopped, stood, and came towards the cabinet, and in that single brilliant instant, Lizzy had an idea. A mad one, maybe, an absolutely crazy, insane, suicidal idea, but it was an idea. And it was a better idea than she'd had in ages. Without a word, she snapped open her fan (careful to twist it to make sure the blades did  _not_  emerge) and flung open the cabinet doors. Her mask was fixed firmly over the top half of her face.

"Do you have any idea how musty these old jackets are?" she said, and beat at her skirt to get the dust off. "I nearly suffocated in here."

The man in the fish mask had a heart attack. Or he could have. He clutched the front of his doublet and sank into the nearest chair. The lion-man leapt out of his, his huge hands clenched into fists. The American rocked back on his heels, looking at her. He wore a scorpion charm dangling from his belt. "And what the hell are you doing in here?"

"Language, Yankee,” she said, and angled her fan flirtatiously. Her eyes flicked from man to man to finally rest on Beddor. "When the father of my dear friend Rebecca skulks around his own daughter's birthday party looking like a naughty child who's been caught with his hand in the honeypot, of course I have to look into it. It's only your misfortune that you didn't tell me sooner, Mr. Beddor."

Beddor looked about ready to choke himself. The whole room swiveled to look at him, and Lizzy took the chance to pull her glove back on. On her other hand, the two rings she wore—one laced with arsenic, the other with belladonna—gleamed in silver and obsidian. Finally, the lion-man said, "Zygos."

"I don't know her!" Beddor yelped, and then corrected himself. "No, I do know her, but I don't—"

"I am Elizabeth Middleford, gentlemen,” Lizzy said, and instantly all eyes were back on her. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst through her throat as, without a word, she offered her ringless hand to the American and said, "And I rather think I might be the answer to all of your little spy problems."

* * *

 

"You told them you could make me stop,” Ciel said, in a dull, uncomprehending voice. They were on their way back to the Middleford townhouse. Lizzy had peeled her gloves off to wipe the sweat from her palms. Paula was still trembling. Sebastian, cool as ever, leafed through the book that Lizzy had swiped. Hopefully no one would notice it was missing until she was trusted enough to explain it away. The box she'd snatched was still in her pocket.

"I told them I would inquire as to whether you were looking into their affairs," she corrected him absently, and flicked her fan open with a quick right-twist. The mechanism hissed, and the blades slid out of their casings. She studied them for a moment—still sharp—and then snapped the fan back closed. "And then I flirted and charmed my way out of there."

"Well, clearly,” Ciel grouched, and Lizzy hid a smile.

"It's not like I was in any real danger, Ciel. They couldn't kill me. I'm too important to be killed." It sounded vain, but it was true, at least, as far as social hierarchies were concerned. "The most they could do was threaten me or imprison me, and to be honest, I'm difficult to imprison."

Ciel looked at her for a moment. Then he turned, and glared out of the carriage window. His hair, which had been combed back for his costume, fell in messy strands around his face now; he'd been raking his hands through it for the past half an hour. "And if they'd knocked you out, what would you have done then?"

"Where could I have gone?" she asked. "I was in a library, Ciel, not a droughty old castle with a dozen secret passageways. They would have had to take me out of there sometime. And you wouldn't have left without me."

"I was severely tempted to."

"But you didn't and that's what counts." She frowned, and took Paula's hand. The maid squeezed her fingers until the bones cracked. "Ow. Paula."

"Sorry," said Paula, but she only squeezed tighter. Lizzy, wisely, fell silent about the pain in her hands, and snapped her fan shut again. Her fiancé was being unnaturally quiet, just staring at her. Shadows splashed across his face. She felt the blood creeping up her neck. He really was very good-looking.

"Dash it, Ciel—"

"Language."

"Damn my language,” she said. "Stop glaring at me."

"I'm not glaring at you."

"Then whatever you're doing, stop it.

"Don't be pert."

She bit back the words that leapt into her mouth— _don't be angry, Ciel_ —and said instead, "then quit being such an officious prig, Ciel, it's really quite aggravating."

"Lizzy!"

"Yes?"

He growled under his breath. "Nothing."

"Ciel."

"Elizabeth," he mimicked, and her full name was more of a slap than anything else.

"What?"

"You're not working with this case any longer, Elizabeth,” Ciel said, in the firm I Am The Queen's Watchdog And Thus I Will Be Obeyed voice.

"You have absolutely no say about what I do, Ciel."

"I do in this instance. This is my assignment. Just because you've managed to get it into your head that you can help—"

"I've helped,” Lizzy said. "I've been helping. Ciel—"

"—doesn't mean that you can swan in and do absolutely whatever you want—"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"—and utterly disrupt the trains of investigation that have worked perfectly well in the past," he finished, ignoring her question. "To be frank, Elizabeth, you're being a bother as well as a hazard. You need to stop."

Lizzy remained quiet for a very long time. If he'd taken her fan from her, snapped it open, and slashed it across her throat with the blades fully extended, it couldn't have hurt more than that. She clenched her hand around Paula's.  _An edge. Remember your edge, Lizzy. Remember your edge._

"You just listen to—" Paula began, but Lizzy tugged on her fingers.

"Don't, Paula."

Paula turned her big brown eyes on Lizzy. "But, Miss Lizzy—"

"Don't, I said,” Lizzy said, and stared at her fiancé. "He won't hear you right now, Paula. Ciel never listens to anyone, you see. There's no point in telling him anything, because even if it's the truth, he won't believe a word you say."

"You—" Ciel began, and then he bit his tongue and turned away again, his shoulders hard and tense. She fought the urge to slap him—or hug him—or whatever—and looked away herself, staring out into the street, and didn't continue.

The silence built up and turned to ice after that. Lizzy waited until Paula had brushed through her hair and tucked her into bed without fussing, closing the door behind her, before letting her heart thaw out, and probing the damage Ciel's words had caused.

Not nearly as bad as some of the things, he'd said, maybe, but it'd cut her deep. Half the reason she'd left England for that year was to become less of a bother to her fiancé, not to turn into more of a one. She turned the words over in her head, over and over and over.  _A bother. A hazard. You need to stop._

She let herself cry for a little while over that one. Once the clock hit two, she pinched herself out of it, and stared at the ceiling.

She'd always known she was a fairly pushy person. Was she pushing too hard? Or was Ciel not used to her pushing him? That might have been it. She'd always backed down if Ciel told her to stop before now. She traced her fingers over the box that she'd snatched from the bookshelf, staring at it as it lay on her pillow in front of her nose. So she'd been pushy. Was that a bad thing? She'd given him answers. Anger burst into life, the snap and sulfur of a match in her stomach. Fury through the hurt. He'd made her cry. Again, after a full  _year_ , he'd gone and made her cry  _again_. Her father was going to be so disappointed in her.

 _Damn him_.

She hadn't meant to cry. She'd sworn never to cry about Ciel again. And he'd gone and made her break her promise to herself and to her father and pretty much throw mud in the face of everything she'd been working towards for the past year. Over a year. All the codes and poisons and languages and  _everything_  she'd worked so hard to achieve, Ciel had thrown back into her face.

How  _dare_ he dismiss her. How  _dare_ he treat her, who, technically, was his superior—in the social hierarchy, in age, in pretty much everything other than gender—and he was looking at her like she was nothing more than a caterpillar that he'd squashed while walking down a park lane. He was treating her like nothing. Like a child. Like a whiny, overenthusiastic child. Like someone who could be ignored.

Like she was still little mindless Lizzy who played around with dolls and costumes and pretty lies.

_A lady should be super weak, and cute in front of her lord. It's the most important thing, to be an innocent, naïve girl. It's your job to smile and be surrounded by nice things, just like in nursery rhymes…you should always be like that._

Well, she was spitting on that. Spitting on it and digging a hole and burying that idea deep, deep, deep in the earth, because it didn't fit her. It didn't fit what she could do. And it made her less than nothing to the people that were supposed to be everything.

She was spitting on that, and she was spitting on Ciel. Pompous, irritating, frustrating, full-of-himself Ciel, who was too thickheaded to see what she could really do. Puffed-up, angry, lonely, terrible, terribly gentle, terribly frightened Ciel, who she only wanted to help.

What was she supposed to do, leave him to hurt himself? He was already wincing at deep breaths. She'd have to have been criminally blind not to notice that. And what was it he'd said?  _Don't make me laugh, Elizabeth. My ribs have been hurting lately after one of Beddor's goons threw me into a wall._  So in other words, he'd gone and done something foolish already and he was lecturing  _her_  for making a mistake? Clod. She should knock him back on his rear and throw him in the Thames. Fight him into submission.

Her fingers clenched around her blankets. Fighting. The only thing Ciel seemed to really understand—at least, when it came to her new self—was her fighting to show it to him. The only way she'd managed to get him to acknowledge her in the first place was to hold a sword to his throat. She took a breath, and let it out, and then took another. The case was locked; she fiddled with the lock for a moment before tucking it under her pillow, feeling the hard corners press up through the feathers to prick against her earlobe.

Tonight seemed to be the night for mad ideas. Because she was going to challenge Ciel to a fencing match.

May the best man win.


	7. His Fiancée, Bellicose

The last time she'd shown up at Ciel's door without notice, it had been to invite him to accompany them on the  _Campania_. She wasn't sure why that struck her so intensely. Lizzy traced her fingers over the books, embossing the titles with the tip of the glove, and hoped that she wasn't making a huge mistake by being here in the first place.

Ciel was here, of course. He was just making her wait, the way he always did. He worked on his own terms, no one else's, and if that meant making his angry fiancée wait in the library because he didn't care enough to be polite, then that was what he was going to do. For an instant, she hated him for it. If she'd been waiting for anyone else, they would have dropped everything to come and listen to her, but since it was Ciel, he couldn't be persuaded to give a damn what she thought or where she was.

 _Papa was right. He has grown more arrogant than I remember_.

Paula's husband Michael had gone to the fencing hall already to set up her things, and she had no doubt that Sebastian knew precisely what she was about, coming here so early on a Thursday morning with a bundle of épées and a determinedly chilly expression.

She hadn't been so coldly furious in a long time. Perhaps never. She had no desire to come to a happy medium with Ciel. She was going to beat some sense into him if it took her all week to do it.

The door opened. It was Sebastian. "Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. I have brought you—"

"Where is he?" she said, and she was happy to hear that her voice was cool and polite, despite the way she was so furious she could spit.

"The young master is unavailable at the moment—"

"I don't care whether or not he's available."

Sebastian straightened, and looked at her. She didn't give a damn what he thought, but she thought she might have caught a hint of surprise in his dried-blood eyes.  _No, I'm not what you remember, am I, Michaelis?_  "My lady?"

"I said,  _I don't care_. I'm not in the habit of being made to wait. Now, I asked you a question and I demand an answer. Now."

"My lord Phantomhive is in his study examining the journal you were so kind to recover for us, my lady Elizabeth. However, he has asked expressly—"

"Sebastian,” she said, and he fell silent. "What am I here for?"

Sebastian paused. "I would assume to continue your urging the young master to allow your participation in the current investigation, which, I regret to inform you—"

"Incorrect,” she said, and twisted the handle of her parasol in one hand. It was the rapier parasol. It had felt better in her hand than the normal one, heavier, more worthy. "I came here to beat some sense into his skull."

They stared at each other, and the room suddenly chilled. Sebastian went very still. Despite the fact that she'd watched this man crush human skulls, she wondered if this was the first time she'd realized just how dangerous he could be. "…interesting."

She stared at him, and refused to acknowledge the way his eyes were making the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Every instinct was screaming at her to run. She wasn't sure why, but she had to get out of there.  _Now_. She fastened her feet to the ground and met his gaze. "Now are you going to let me pass or not?"

"And what would be in that for me, Elizabeth?" he asked, and her whole spine quaked. No _miss,_ no _my lady_ , no _mademoiselle_. Nothing. Just her name, in a way that Sebastian should have never said her name, and it frightened her.

"I have the feeling that you would much prefer to have a skilled ally in assisting Ciel than having a very angry woman trying to argue with him at every turn,” she said, and her voice trembled just slightly. "I don't intend to hurt him. I want to teach him a lesson. He's not to underestimate me, not now, not ever, and if we're going to get married, then he's going to need to understand that now. Is that understandable?"

"Quite." He considered. "And the épées?"

"A way of making him understand."

Sebastian frowned. "A duel, my lady Elizabeth?"

"Naturally. Though you are more than welcome to add your own suggestion to the mix. I've thought over many of the things I can do, Sebastian, but the one thing that Ciel objected to was the ability to defend myself."

"I see,” he said, and then he moved. The motion flickered into invisibility. Elizabeth ducked, an instant before a hand slashed through the place where her neck had been. She tucked and rolled, diving under the table, and pulled her rapier from the parasol, but he was there to meet her. He knocked the rapier from her hand and took a step forward; she stepped automatically back, and felt her spine hit the wall. She choked. Sebastian was _right_ there, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. Chillingly cold. He had a knife in one hand.

"What keeps me from killing you now, my lady?" he asked politely.

Lizzy closed her eyes for a long moment.  _I will not cry_.  _Think_. There was a long pause, a moment of silence. Upstairs, she heard Ciel begin to play the violin.

"You can't,” she said.

Beat. She felt her heart pounding in her throat. Then he stepped back, twisted his hand, and the knife vanished back up his sleeve. She slid down the wall, her skirt bunching up against her back, and her lungs strained against the corset as she struggled to suck in air. He couldn't kill her, not in Ciel's house, not at all. She was too important. It was a horrendously selfish thought, but she was. If she vanished, there would be inquiries. She slipped a hand into her pocket as she straightened.

"You know I'm not fast enough to beat you,” she said, ignoring the way she was panting. "You could quite easily kill me if you wanted to, but you can't. And you won't. All you're doing is making fun of me, and that's useless. I'm not going to change my mind. I want to fight Ciel, Sebastian. Not you."

For an instant, she thought Sebastian's pupils had changed, lengthened, turned into a cat's eye; then the feeling vanished, and he stepped back.

She stood, and realized she was shaking bad enough to lose control of her breakfast. Without a word, she turned away. For the first time, this friendly-looking man, the one who'd always tolerated her little whims, ever since she'd been small, petrified her.

"That was completely unnecessary."

"On the contrary, my lady. This is the most interesting thing to happen all year." He covered his throat for a moment. "If you'll excuse me, the young master will meet you in the fencing hall in thirty minutes. Is that agreeable?"

It was a concession, but all she wanted was to get away from the butler. She wanted to run, hide. She had to fight Ciel. She had to kill Sebastian. Or maim him. Or run in fear. Or something. She didn't know. Finally, she let out a long breath. "Perfectly."

She waited until he was gone to stumble to the lavatory and heave her guts up.

He'd been testing her, she knew, and even when she stopped shaking and she was cleaning her épée in preparation for a bout, she wondered if it had really been a test or if he was actually going to kill her. She'd known—she'd always known—there was something off about Sebastian, how easily he completed the most difficult of tasks, how fluid he was, how he always carried weapons and always won his fights. He was good at it. She'd assumed that Ciel had found him somewhere during that time when he'd been away, hired him. That he was a mercenary of some sort, perhaps an old assassin or spy or something who knew more ways to kill than recipes for bread, and now she was absolutely certain of it.

She was also absolutely certain that the man was insane. He'd raised a hand to the daughter of a marquis in her fiancé's house. If she told anyone that he'd threatened to kill her, they would hunt him down. She was certain of it. Edward would get it into his head to avenge her honor; her father would be furious. Mama would go to kill him. They'd all fail.

_He moved faster than I thought was possible._

If she told anyone, her family would die in their attempts to take revenge.

 _So I won't tell_ , she thought, and wondered why that released the bubble of tension in her throat. She wouldn't tell anyone except Ciel, and she'd only tell Ciel when she was certain Sebastian would not be there to look at her that way that reminded her of a wolf stalking a deer.  _I'm no deer._ She might have been terrified, she might now know what he could do, but that didn't mean she was going to run away and hide from him. Sebastian and Ciel were a complete package. If she wanted to be near Ciel, she would have to tolerate Sebastian, and Sebastian—for all his faults—had been working to help Ciel.

He had never actually touched her, she realized, as she put her hair up into a bun and pinned it there. He hadn't even bruised her. She'd been pinned so fast she hadn't realized what was happening, but not once had even his gloves brushed her arm.

 _Tests. Games._ She stretched out her muscles.  _Tricks of the trade_. If she could get Sebastian to teach her how to do that, she'd be a valuable weapon, and that was all she wanted. She wanted to help Ciel. She wanted to be the best. She wanted to be herself. When had all three wishes tied together into one simple thing? She wasn't sure. But in order to be the best she could be, she had to learn. She had to teach. She had to fight, and she had to win. And then finally she'd be worthy of something.

"Lizzy." Ciel's shocked voice made her stiffen, but she continued stretching, sliding down to the floor, putting her foot out in front of her, and leaning forward to grab her toes. It was a stretch she'd learned in ballet. "What are you doing?"

"There you are,” she said, and put her other leg forward, stretching that one as well. When that was done, she rolled forward into a standing position, not caring that his eyes were tracing her figure. She'd grown one since she'd left, of course, but outside of her father, mother, and brother, no one had ever seen her in her fencing uniform since she'd been a child. In a way, it was almost fitting that Ciel was the first one. He was her fiancé, her childhood friend, her cousin. It felt right. "I was wondering when you'd get the courage up to come down."

He stiffened, and for once, she was glad that she was taller than he was. It meant she could look down on him and he could feel the full brunt of her fury and her terror. "You're in my house, Lizzy, and you came at a highly inconvenient—what are you doing?"

She'd gone up into a handstand. Without a word, she walked a few steps on her palms, tucked, rolled, sprang to her feet, did two handsprings, and spread her arms wide. Nothing had ever been as good for her as exercise when she was angry or frightened. The smooth movements and the utter power that flooded through her when she danced, fenced, whatever—it made her feel clean. Like a normal person. "I'm loosening up, Ciel. You should too."

"Sebastian said you have a mad idea in your head of me fencing with you, and I can already tell you—"

"What, are you frightened of me, Ciel?" she said, and the bite in her voice made him freeze. He stared at her with wide eyes. "Are you frightened of what I can do? Are you frightened of learning that I'm not a little girl anymore? Why? It's not like you were so scared of me the other night."

"Elizabeth,” he said, and there was a hint of a growl in his voice. "You're talking nonsense."

They stood there for a long moment. Then, without a word, she stepped away, seized an épée, and slashed the air with it, experimentally. She'd brought her own swords, of course, and Sebastian had magicked Ciel's into the room. Or they'd always been there, she wasn't sure. She couldn't remember them from the last time she'd been there. "Is this yours?"

"Yes."

"Good." She threw it at him. Ciel barely caught it before it hit the wall. "Go change clothes. You're going to use it."

"I don't have time for this."

"You have all the time in the world, Ciel,” she said, and smiled. That seemed to unnerve him more than anything else. He stared at her. "Come on. Spar with me. Or are you too frightened of your big nasty fiancée to even come near?"

In spite of herself, she felt her throat begin to close from threatening tears. She fought it back with a cough, and Ciel stared.

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

She kept silent, seized her own épée, and began to go through some practice bouts with the air. Ciel watched her for a long moment, scoffed. He turned to head for the door.

Lizzy seized the knife off the table and threw it at him. It sped past his ear and hit the door, quivering a few inches above his head. Ciel froze, turned, and stared at her, and for the first time she saw real anger in his gaze.

"Fight me, little cousin,” she said, and held her sword in the ready position. "Fight me or everyone knows what you are."

"Which is what?"

"A sad, scared, arrogant, furious little boy."

She was quite careful to pronounce every single word, and he winced as though they'd struck him physically. As though she'd punched him. Driven knives into him. He looked as though his most trusted dog had turned around and bit his fingers off. Pure betrayal. Raw fury. He turned away, and unbuttoned his jacket, his vest, until he was standing there in nothing more than a clean white shirt and his breeches. His feet were bare. She felt kind of out of place, standing there in her uniform, but after a moment she shook it off and threw a face shield at him. "You'll need that. There's another uniform on the table."

"I'm not going to change here."

"You want to get cut up?" The tips of the épées were dull, but they could still deliver some nasty welts. "Even you're not invincible, Ciel."

Wordlessly, he turned away and vanished into the changing room. Lizzy went through a few more warm ups, flapping her hands to keep them from shaking. She could see the box she'd stolen from Beddor's library peeping out of her bag on the table; without a word she pushed it back inside and pulled the bag shut. She'd brought it to show Ciel only when she'd proven herself and forced him to accept her. If he didn't, she'd mount her own investigation, to hell with what Ciel thought.

When he emerged from the changing room, his look of betrayal had transformed into icy rage. That was Ciel's dangerous look. Hot anger she knew how to deal with. Cold anger you just had to wait out. Or beat out of him.

"We're going by Mama's rules,” she said. Which basically meant,  _anything goes_.

"Fine."

After a moment, she lifted her sword up into the ready position, inclined her head towards him. " _En garde_."

He saluted her back, grudgingly.

" _Prêt_ ," she said. Lizzy drew a breath, let it out. The word fell from her lips like a stone. " _Allez_!"

Ciel lunged. His form was sloppy. Whether it was intentional or not, it left her an opening that she did not take. Lizzy slid smoothly out of the way, tapped his épée with her own, and did a cross-over, getting behind him before he realized it. Ciel barely managed to spin around in time to block her épée, and she danced with him, slowly, deliberately, her face fixed and frozen behind her mask.

She presented her blade, and waited for him to attack. They circled each other. He was warier of her this time, and she wondered if that was because he knew she could steal his épée from him whenever she wanted, or because he was trying to figure out her expression. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She feinted to the right, and then lunged; she felt the tip of her sword graze his shoulder.

"Touché," Ciel snapped, and they both backed off. She was going easy on him. She knew it. She wasn't sure if he knew it.  _I'm playing with you, little Ciel, and I want you to know it_.

He didn't like not being able to see her face. She slid her blade up and down his own, and the odd rasping noise that came with the coulé made him jump. She tapped the end of the blade.

"Is that all you have, cousin?"

He snarled, and cut at her in response. Lizzy beat him back and disengaged, waving her sword back and forth. Ciel followed it, the way a cat does a feather on a string. He wasn't watching her, wasn't watching her torso to figure out where her next attack would come from; he was watching the sword.  _Sebastian's been lax_. Of course, Ciel may have simply ordered his butler to stop teaching him fencing. What need did the great Earl Phantomhive have of it, when he had such a lethal butler at his beck and call?

She feinted, and lunged again. Before the point connected, however, she slipped into passata-sotto; she dropped her hand to the floor, ducking his épée, and swept his feet out from under him. Ciel hit the mats with a thud, throwing his sword up automatically. It was the only thing that kept her from hitting him in the head with her own épée.

"Get up, Ciel,” she said, and turned away from him, shaking her hands out. She'd been gripping her épée so hard that her fingers were seizing up. Without a word, she transferred it to her left hand, and settled in _en garde_ position again. "That was pathetic. I expected more out of you."

He swore under his breath with a word he'd probably heard down by the docks, and pushed himself to his feet. His visible eye glinted furiously through the mesh screen. "What's  _wrong_ with you? There's no point to this!"

"There's every point. You're just not listening."

He fought harder this time. She scored two points on him before he nearly scraped her with the end of his épée. She stole his sword from him, threw her own aside, and flipped him over her hip. When he hit the floor she set her knee in the spot between his shoulder blades, tore off her helmet, and threw it away. "Am I helpless now?"

"Lizzy, what's wrong with you?" he snapped. She only let him up when he began to choke. Ciel pushed his mask off. His hair was tangled in front of his eyes. "You're acting irrationally."

"Am I?" she snapped, and seized the épée again. He scrambled back, away from her, but he didn't get up in time; when she slashed the air with the blade, he flinched. She was right in his space. She was Sebastian, he was Elizabeth. She was the hunter. "Is that what I am?"

"Stop it, Lizzy. This is ridiculous. You have to be joking."

"Joking, am I? Then why won't you let me come near you?"

"Elizabeth, you're acting mad."

She took a step forward, he took a step back. "I was right, you know. You never listen. You. Never. Listen. You don't hear. Do you turn off your ears? Or do you just not _care_ what other people have to say?” She was backing him into a corner, and she saw his eye flicker around, searching for Sebastian. "He's not here, Ciel. I asked him to leave us alone for a little while."

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"He's my butler," he said, but that sounded weak.

"I'm your fiancée, isn't that a bit more important?" She took another step forward, and he hit the wall, and she saw the same fury and terror in his eyes that Sebastian must have seen in hers. "Come on, Ciel. Not afraid to spend a little alone time with me, are you?"

"You're insane."

"No. I'm angry. There's a difference."

She was so close to him she could feel him breathing. He smelled like sweat and whatever he used to wash his hair with, something like lemongrass. It was calming, but only a little. Without a word, she threw the sword away. "I could kill you right now. And you don't see it."

"Lizzy—"

"Do I have to hold a sword to your throat  _every single damn time_?" she said, and her soft, level tone was more frightening than the wildest shriek. " _You. Don't. Listen._  This is not a  _contest_. This is not a  _game_. And I am _involved_  whether you like it or not."

"Elizabeth."

"Don't start that with me, Ciel,” she snapped, and she reached forward and set her thumb against the base of his throat. "If I push down, you won't be able to breathe. If I keep my thumb here, I can kill you in minutes. I'm stronger than you are, Ciel. You may not know it yet, but I am, and if I have to beat that knowledge into you with my bare hands, then I won't hold back a single punch. Do you understand me?"

"Lizzy!"

" _Do you understand me_?"

Wordlessly, he nodded. She backed off. "We're going to finish this match."

"There's no point,” Ciel said. "You'll win."

"I know,” she said, and threw his sword back to him. "That doesn't mean you can't try."

She knew him too well. Screaming at him would only make him more stubborn. Beating him would only make him hate her. She had to convince him, and it would take a long time. But winning here…winning here would be a start.

* * *

 

Ciel winced as Sebastian dabbed at one of the cuts on his shoulders. Well, less of a cut than a welt. Lizzy hadn't held back any blows. She'd scored twenty times before letting him rest, and twenty times more before finally declaring that he was doing well enough for a complete novice with no finesse and no style. And then, of course, she'd insisted on showing him some of what her brother had been teaching her. She'd been careful of his broken rib, of course, but getting his hands twisted up behind him and his legs swept out from under him hadn't been much better.

And he still didn't know which nerve she'd jabbed, but he was only just starting to have feeling in his hands again.

She'd beaten him steadily at everything she knew, and then vanished from Phantomhive Manor with all her equipment. She hadn't bothered to say goodbye. It was completely unlike her. Usually she clung to him and had to be forced to leave. Now, she'd swept out as though it had all been a great inconvenience to her to show up in the first place. Ciel gritted his teeth.

"Damn it, Sebastian!"

"My apologies,” Sebastian said, but he didn't sound particularly apologetic. "May I assume that your rib is hurting you, my lord?"

"Of course it's hurting. It's broken."

Sebastian set two fingers against the rib and pushed, lightly. There was no give, but it felt like liquid fire had spread through his chest. Ciel sucked in a breath. "It seems to be healing nicely, my lord."

" _Don't do that_!"

"As you wish," said Sebastian, and fell quiet. It was his 'waiting' silence, the one that demanded answers about the bruises that mottled his arms.

"Lizzy insisted on a fencing match,” Ciel said. "I thought I told you to get rid of her."

"I rather thought it was an interesting idea, my lord."

"You're not here to think, Sebastian,” Ciel snapped, and immediately regretted it when the butler's hands went still for the slightest of moments. Then Sebastian pulled back and smiled his fake smile.

"Well, of course not. Were you successful, my lord?"

"Does it look like I was bloody well successful?" He scruffed a hand through his hair and slid off the table, pulling a clean shirt over his head without looking back at Sebastian. "She beat me to a pulp, Sebastian."

"I rather thought so, my lord." Sebastian wrung out the cloth he'd been using to clean the welts, and folded it up neatly. "I did tell you that continuing fencing might be a commendable idea."

"I don't like it and I don't need it."

"Judging from your performance today, my lord, I would say that you do,” Sebastian said, and before Ciel could throw the jug of water at him, he vanished out the door. Ciel swore under his breath again, and dropped onto the end of the bed, wincing when one of the welts hit the edge of the mattress.

She'd gone insane. That was the only reason for her to be behaving this way. Somehow, during that year she'd been on a tour of Europe, she'd eaten something or gone somewhere that had boiled her brains away. She'd never been particularly intelligent in the first place—at least, he couldn't remember her ever showing any example of smarts—but now she was just downright mad. He couldn't remember her ever looking at him that way, or snarling at him, or swearing in his presence. He couldn't remember her behaving angry around him.

 _She's not the one who has a right to be angry_ , he thought, and scruffed his hair again, frustrated.  _She's not the one covered in bruises_.

Sebastian reappeared with a nightshirt, a change of bandages for his ribs, and a cup of tea, and they worked through the process in silence. Ciel waited until the butler was clearing his things away before saying, "Why didn't you send her away?"

"Because she had something important to say, my lord,” Sebastian said lightly.

"She didn't  _say_  anything."

"If I may speak freely, my lord—"

"You're going to anyway, but you might as well."

"I took the liberty of testing my lady Elizabeth when she first appeared at the house this morning,” Sebastian said. "She held up admirably. However, she did say something that I believe would answer many of your questions about today."

Ciel waited.

"You underestimate her, my lord."

"What is there to underestimate?" Ciel said, but he had a slight sinking feeling in his chest that resounded through the bruises that were throbbing under his nightshirt. "Elizabeth—"

"—could be a highly valuable asset."

"She's my fiancée, not a tool to be used in this war."

"Is it a war, my lord?" Sebastian asked, deceptively innocent.

"You know what it is."

"I know what _this_ is. But you seem to be misunderstanding a simple fact, my lord."

"And what's that?"

"That your fiancée has grown up,” Sebastian said. "And to not use a tool that is willingly offering herself into your hands could prove to be the worst mistake of your life."

Ciel clenched his hands into fists. "She's not a tool, Sebastian. She's my fiancée."

"I see no difference."

"Do you want her to end up dead?"

"The likelihood of that creature ending up dead is much less than your death if I was not immediately present, my lord."

"It's Lizzy!"

"No, my lord,” Sebastian said placidly. "It's the lady Elizabeth."

Silence for a moment.

"Go away, Sebastian,” Ciel said, exhausted.

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian turned. Paused. Turned back again. He pulled a small box from his pocket, and offered it to Ciel.

"What is this?"

"Something your fiancée left for you in the fencing hall,” Sebastian said. "She indicated that she borrowed it from her friend Beddor. She also left you a message."

Ciel took it, but didn't open it. He had a feeling he was supposed to say something, or do something, to keep Sebastian from watching him like that. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well? What's the message?"

"Just a few words, my lord,” Sebastian said. " _You're still not listening_."


	8. His Fiancée, Scandalous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Mutability by Percy Bysshe Shelley. It currently belongs in the public domain and thus my use of it does not violate any copyright laws. Thank you.

"Are you certain that you've made the right decision, Miss Lizzy?" Paula asked shyly, while Lizzy held her arms out wide so Nina could take yet another measurement of her rib cage. She was still growing, apparently. It didn't bother her as much as it used to, but still, having to get a whole new wardrobe was highly taxing. "I know that you've been feeling much better after what happened last week—"

"If anything I've felt worse, Paula, honestly,” Lizzy said, ignoring the fact that Nina's ears were pricked. She trusted Nina to keep her secrets. "Do you have any idea how much damage I did?"

Paula fell quiet, though Lizzy could see the  _I told you so_  bursting on the maid's lips. There were a few things that Lizzy had inherited from her mother, and a tempestuous temper had been one of them. She could hold a grudge like no other, but once her anger was expired, she felt awful. If anything, she'd made things worse by challenging Ciel to a duel. She'd felt better—she thought he might have come close to understanding her, for a second—and then the duel had ended and he'd lost it.

 _He's too stubborn_. And he was too arrogant, and too pessimistic, and too childlike, and…too much. There was the oddest mix of the child and the adult in Ciel, something that might never go away. He was just the way he was. Losing his parents had frozen him in time, somehow. He'd grown so much, and yet at the same time he seemed to have taken a thousand steps back.  _I'm driving him back into what he was. And I don't want that._

"My lady?" Nina said, and Lizzy blinked and looked at her. "You can lower your arms now, darling, I'm done with your ribs."

"Oh." Her hands hit her sides. "Thank you."

"Are you having man troubles, dear?" Nina asked, clenching a needle between her teeth as she began to pin the hem of the skirt together. Lizzy winced when her ribs protested. It was supposed to be fairly form-fitting, but having to cinch her corset tighter than necessary made it less than enjoyable. "Your fiancé, perhaps?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Only for you, Lizzy, would I break my cardinal age rule. Also, my cardinal no-private-life-discussion rule. Since we seem to be throwing every precedent out the window these days I may as well join in."

Well, that was pure Nina. "We're arguing." Well, less than an argument than a full-blown, icy-quiet war. She hadn't heard from Ciel at all, and now that her anger had dissipated, she had no idea how to reach out to him to do…whatever it was she wanted to do. Not apologize, certainly. That would send them right back to what they'd been before. But…talk to him. Have a debate. Convince him that she was only trying to help.

_Is he trying to protect me? Or does he really just see me as a bother?_

Either way, she wasn't sure she liked the idea of being forced out of it all.

"Women today are in a tough position, my dear,” Nina said. Lizzy snapped her mind back to the present. "I'm sure you've realized it too. The suffragette movement is gaining steam, but there aren't that many around. And while they're quiet, the men still think we're the kind of sex to be pushed around and ignored."

Paula's cheeks turned pink. This was a  _highly_  improper conversation. Lizzy thought it was delicious.

"I don't think it has anything to do with that—" Lizzy began, but Nina ignored her, threading her needle with pristine care.

"Are you certain? If I know men, my dear, and I try not to, then sometimes it's difficult for them to understand, once they have something in their heads, that they might possibly be incorrect. Especially when it's a  _woman_ telling them they might be incorrect. On the other hand, women are much like that too. It's a human curse." She slid another pin through the hem of the skirt. "Now, the only way anyone can settle anything rationally any more is by beating each other about the head with sticks, or by talking it out. Together."

"I don't think he wants to talk anything out, Nina."

"Well, how do you know that unless you try?" Nina asked, sensibly, and straightened. "Turn. Anyway, even if you're right, sometimes—no matter whom you're arguing with—you need to bring yourself to a level ground. Are you on level ground with your fiancé right now, my dear? Or are you staring at each other with a chasm in between?"

Lizzy colored. Nina smiled the slightest bit. "I see. Well, at least you know now."

"What do I do?" Lizzy asked. Her eyes were burning. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm not the one to ask, my dear. I'm not all that fond of men. And your wonderful maid here is married, so she might be the better person to interrogate. But if one is annoying you, then move on to another! You can always come back when you need to."

"That's awful, Nina."

"Why? It's what men do." Nina pinned another few seams, stepped back, and observed the effect. "I think crimson. Don't you? Crimson is so  _in_  this season."

Lizzy waved this off. She was blonde. She could pull off a number of colors without a hitch. And it was beside the point anyway. "Ciel isn't the kind of person I can really talk to. He's not…he doesn't work that way. He's crushed everything in him that I used to be able to understand. I don't think I really know him anymore."

It slipped out before she realized it. Lizzy pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes growing wide.  _I don't think I really know him anymore_. It had been lingering in the back of her mind for days, so why did saying it aloud make it so much more final? Nina looked at her for a long moment, and then then clapped her hands together.

"Crimson and then I think a navy blue. You'll look wonderful in dark colors, my dear. If there's ever a death in your family, I can promise you some stellar mourning gowns."

"Nina!"

"Well, it's true, so don't whine at me about it,” Nina said, and pulled out her measuring tape. "Besides. It's time to get to work, my dear. So keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

Four hours later, after a very long argument between Paula and Nina about how, precisely, Elizabeth should be dressed for the upcoming season (which was months away, but Nina had an uncanny ability to predict fashion trends that would have had her burned as a witch a hundred years ago) Lizzy settled at her writing desk with the sort of feeling that reminded her of watching a condemned man take the thirteen steps up to the gallows.

Nina was right. She had to bridge the gap, because she knew Ciel never would. She had to say something. She just didn't know what to say.

Worrying the inside of her cheek, Lizzy picked up her mother's fountain pen, uncapped it, and held it above the page. The creamy paper remained clean. As she stared, a bead of ink built at the tip of the pen, and fell to paper, splashing the lace cuff of her sleeve.

Lizzy stared at the black speck, and thought.

* * *

 

"A Mr. Parker to see you, my lady."

Lizzy smoothed her crimson skirt down over her legs, and closed the book of poetry resting on her knees. Parker's request to meet with her regarding the Phantomhive issue could not have come at a better time. She'd just thrown her fortieth half-written letter into the fire grate, and frustration had been pounding through her skull for the past three days. Three days—three  _blasted_  days—and she hadn't been able to get more than  _Dear Ciel_. Letter writing had always come so easy for her, but Ciel turned everything upside down.  _Damn him_. It had come to the point where even something as complicated as the relationships between a knight, an American, and a hidden agenda that had everything to do with the book she'd stolen for Ciel were simpler for her to understand than a single thing her fiancé did or said.

She hadn't seen him since the fight. She had no desire to see him. Not particularly.

Parker was dressed in a surprisingly trim suit, clearly American made, and without a proper cravat, but that fit with his outlandish hat. He swept it off his head. "Good evenin', Lady Middleford."

"Lady Middleford is my mother, Mr. Parker. I'm just Elizabeth."

"You're not  _just_  anything," Parker said, and lifted her hand to his lips. He held it a little longer than necessary. Lizzy kept her face quite still. Americans could be flirts, but, then again, so could Englishmen and Frenchmen and the Spanish.  _And don't think about the Italians, my dear, because then you will flush and he'll think he has a chance._  A moment longer, and then he released her hand and she smiled. "I'm glad you could see me on such short notice."

"I had nothing else to do this afternoon." She had one and twenty things to do this afternoon, but she wasn't telling him that. Lizzy waved at the nearest seat. "Please. Paula will bring tea."

"Thanks." He sprawled in the chair, thankfully with his hat off, and Lizzy settled back on the couch, tucking her feet away under her skirt. "We hadn't heard from you lately. Beddor's getting a bit anxious, tell ya the truth, Miss Elizabeth."

"Oh?" Lizzy said. "I make men anxious, Mr. Parker. My brother will tell you so."

"Oh, I bet you do," said Parker, and winked a bit. "But you hafta admit, Lady, this ain't exactly the best situation. Little lady like yourself getting mixed up in all this. Bet it's not even very interesting for you, stuck with a bunch of men growing flowers."

"On the contrary, Mr. Parker, I find it all very delicious. You have no idea how bored I've been since returning to London. Nothing is going on this time of year, and compared to Italy…well, I'm certain you know how it is. You've traveled widely, I think Sir Beddor said."

"Here and there." This Parker—flirty, airy Parker—was quite a marked difference from the Parker she'd seen in Beddor's office. Bored, sharp-as-a-knife Parker, who'd been more dangerous than any other man in the room simply by sitting there whistling Yankee Doodle Dandy. "Nothing so much as you, of course. You went traveling for a year?"

"Only in Europe,” she said. The tea arrived. Paula poured. "I assume you've been to India, judging from your business link with the Beddors. They're very based in that part of Asia."

"Once." He shrugged. "Wasn't all that wonderful. A bunch of darkies and a hell of a lot of cows." He paused. "Excusing my language."

"Excused." Lizzy took a cup of tea from Paula, but didn't drink. "I understand from your letter that you want to know the state of affairs between my fiancé and I."

"Right in one,” Parker said, and snagged a biscuit. "Just wondering if y'all had a chance to talk yet."

"Oh, of course,” Lizzy said. "We've discussed it at great length, and he insists that if there's nothing to worry about—"

"Which there isn't."

"Well, of course not. If there's nothing for him to worry about, and nothing going on that would take away from England's interests, then he has absolutely no interest." She sipped from her teacup, careful to look up at Parker from under her lashes. It had taken so much for her to charm her way into this group of men, and convince them that she was on their side. She felt like she was treading along a sword's edge in wax slippers. "I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, Mr. Parker. Now are you going to tell me what's going on? What all the cloak and dagger was about?"

"What cloak and dagger?"

"Oh, you." She smacked him with her fan. "The nicknames. Everything. I was sitting in that closet for a while. Trying to get away from the man dressed up as a bluejay, do you remember him? He kept breathing down my neck and I simply  _had_  to get away and that closet was my only salvation. I would have made myself known earlier, but that conversation you all were having piqued my interest; I couldn't help it. And then of course I sneezed and frightened you all out of your wits."

His mouth quirked in half a smile. "That you did, Miss Elizabeth. We're a jumpy group, if I can say so."

"Well, what's to be so jumpy about? I didn't understand a word of what you were talking about, but it sounded quite interesting. The nicknames?"

"Greek." Parker leaned back in his chair, his bright eyes fixed on her face. Lizzy made sure not to break the gaze. "We're all partners in a company called Zodiac, so the head thought it'd be interestin' to give us all nicknames. It's strictly business, y'know, but…" He shrugged. "Makes us dab hands at parties."

"Oh." Leon.  _Leo_ , she thought, and resolved to look up the Zodiac. That explained some of the symbols, at least. "How intriguing."

 _Men like women to listen, my dear_. That was Papa, whispering in the back of her mind.  _Stroking an ego can get you further than anything else in this game._

"Well, it gets a bit old sometimes."

"And what are you manufacturing?"

"Different kinds of silks,” Parker lied smoothly. Lizzy smiled at him.

"Brilliant! Do you think I could see some of them? I love silks."

"When they're done, Miss Elizabeth, I get the feeling that Beddor'll let you have the pick of the lot. Your fiancé has some stock in silk, doesn't he?"

"Oh, no. Ciel is a toymaker." She laughed, silvery as a bell. "Or, not really—he never makes them himself. But he manages Funtom Company. It's really quite brilliant, a child managing a toy factory. Who else is better to test everything out?"

"Then he's still a kid?" Parker said, and even though she knew he knew Ciel was still a boy the surprise in his face was undeniable. "And you're engaged?"

"Oh, our parents arranged it when we were children. Ciel doesn't like me much, and I have to say that over the years the feeling's become mutual." Her heart twisted. She ignored it. "Really, at times he's nothing more than an infant, and yet in three years, we're supposed to get married."

"Can you break it?"

How refreshingly direct. "And shame my family that way? No." She eyed him, and let herself smile. "And you, Mr. Parker, shouldn't be asking me that. Or are you declaring your intentions?"

His eyes trailed over her, and in spite of herself, Lizzy glowed with pleasure.  _At least_ someone _thinks I'm worth looking at_. "Just seems a right shame that a beautiful woman like you is stuck with a half-blind brat."

Lizzy clenched her hands around her fan. But she only said, "Our families were close. And Ciel has reasons for being the way he is. Still, it is rather aggravating at times. I can only hope to make something of him once we're married." Then she paused, as if something was only just striking her. "You shouldn't flirt with me, Mr. Parker. I am very much an unavailable woman."

"Don't keep you from being worth flirting with."

"How forward."

"American."

"Noted." She tapped her fingers a few times. "I don't understand, though, why having people in the factory after hours is such a nasty idea. It doesn't seem like silks are very dangerous."

"New colors, new dyes. You know men and their toys, Lady Elizabeth. And these dyes haven't been released on the main market yet. Trade secrets, you know."

"I see."

"You're reading Shelley?" he said suddenly. "Bit wild for a woman to read, isn't it?"

"I always have. Ever since I was young." She lowered her gaze to the cover, and then glanced at him, quickly. "And you'll find, Mr. Parker, if you keep visiting, that I can be very wild at times."

He looked at her for a long moment, and his smile made her hate him and want him all at once. "I couldn't imagine, Miss Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth,” she corrected.  _If I'm going to flirt with him, then I might as well be outrageous._  "I can't stand the title."

"Theodore," he said, and paused. "Shall we play a game?"

"And what sort of game would that be?"

He reached forward and took the book, and set it on the table. "I start one poem, you finish it. No peeking, y'know."

She thought her eyes might be twinkling, but it was with fury rather than happiness. _No one touches my books_. "Oh,  _that_ game."

He started one. She started another. Their voices rose in harmony, discordant sometimes, pure and perfect the next, and she hated him and she didn't care, because if she wasn't here to get information she wouldn't be here at all.

 _We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;_  
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,  
Streaking the darkness radiantly! —yet soon  
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

 _Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings_  
Give various response to each varying blast,  
To whose frail frame no second motion brings  
One mood or modulation like the last.

 _We rest. —A dream has power to poison sleep;_  
We rise. —One wandering through pollutes the day;  
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;  
Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:

 _It is the same! —For, be it joy or sorrow,_  
The path of its departure still is free:  
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;  
Nought may endure but Mutability.


	9. His Fiancée, Negotiating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Language and sexual implications. It's probably all right for people who read/watch Kuroshitsuji, considering how intense it can be sometimes, but I just wanted to warn everyone so you don't stumble into something you might not want to read. Victorian London was not a kind place, guys. Just FYI.

The bank of the Thames was frigid in February, and Ciel tucked his hands into his armpits in an attempt to keep his fingers at least semi-useful. If he'd had a choice in the matter, he would have rather had Beddor hold his secret meetings in a warm building—preferably a library—but of course, since this was supposed to be discreet observation, he couldn't exactly march up and punch the man for choosing possibly the coldest place in London to talk to his poppy supplier.

Sebastian, of course, looked as though he was in the most temperate room imaginable. For once, he was out of the butler's uniform; with a cap pulled low over his eyes and workman's pants instead of clean white gloves and a pocket watch, he was crouched at the edge of the bridge, pretending to be asleep. Ciel rubbed his palms together, hoping the friction would warm his fingers, and when it just made his hands hurt worse tucked them away into his pockets. The gun felt like ice against his thumb.

The hand that bore Sebastian's Faustian mark was closer to him. Ciel felt his eye slip to it, and then forced himself to look away. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about that. "Do you see anything?"

"Nothing in particular, young master."

"What are we doing here, then? It's past midnight." He was also freezing. And the prostitutes kept giving him angry looks, like he was encroaching on their territory. It was aggravating. "And no one is showing."

Sebastian remained quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. "I would tentatively say that no one is coming, young master, as they are over an hour late. Shall I escort you back to the carriage?"

"I don't need escorting anywhere, Sebastian,” Ciel snapped. "I'm not a child."

_Fight me or everyone knows what you are: A sad, scared, arrogant, furious little boy._

He gritted his teeth.  _Shut up, Elizabeth_.

"Of course not, my lord,” Sebastian said, and straightened. "Regardless, it would be better for your health for us to get out of the cold."

There was nothing Ciel could really say to that without looking like a brat, so he grunted under his breath and walked quickly back the way they'd come.

The notebook had made little to no sense. Even to someone with skills in engineering, he doubted it would be easy to understand. There were records of opium poppies, however, and that was the evidence he needed to get closer to Beddor, to offer Her Majesty some hope that the case was progressing well. Other than that, he had very little idea what was going on with the group of men that he'd only glimpsed at Beddor's party. Despite the surprisingly detailed summary which Lizzy had offered, it hadn't changed the fact that they still knew next to nothing about the plans of the group. Without more information, they couldn't move forward with their investigation, and if they didn't move forward, then not only would the name of the Phantomhives be tarnished, he would be furious with himself for letting whatever was going on continue.

And yet he couldn't focus on anything for more than ten minutes at a time. It was driving him absolutely mad. The bruises from the épée stung under his rough-spun shirt, and Ciel bit his tongue rather than say anything. That on top of his broken ribs felt as though someone was compressing his torso constantly, in a persistent ache much like an infected splinter or sore tooth. He never wanted to touch a sword again. He'd known, in his head, how good Lizzy was at fighting—he'd seen her on the  _Campania_  after all—but at the same time knowledge wasn't the same as having that skill beaten in to you with the same implacability as a cannonball.

_Are you frightened of what I can do? Are you frightened of learning that I'm not a little girl anymore? Why?_

This focus on the fight with Elizabeth was bordering on the obsessive. He tugged on his bangs, frustrated. The new incarnation of Lizzy Middleford was disturbing him more than he cared to admit, and if he wanted to be fully truthful, it wasn't because she was different—it was because he was different, and he was reacting to her differently, and it was unnerving him.

Sebastian stopped walking. Ciel kept going for a few steps longer before realizing the butler was no longer at his side; when he paused to look back, Sebastian set a finger to his lips. Adrenaline spiked through his veins, and Ciel drew the gun from his pocket, holding it tight but not too tight in his right hand. "What is it?"

"Bard was supposed to meet us here, my lord,” Sebastian said, with about as much pique as though someone had dropped his piece of toast. "And despite multiple character flaws, Bard is never late."

Ciel swore under his breath, and tightened his grip on the gun. "Maybe Beddor was serious about hiring better security."

"Impossible. The staff of the Phantomhives are unparalleled. I have no doubt Bard will arrive."

In spite of himself, he felt a surge of worry in his gut. Sebastian was right. When it mattered, Bard was never late. "Neither do I, but the thought of hanging around here until then isn't exactly a pleasant one." Still, he'd been in worse places. Ciel kept his pistol at the ready as he melted into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Sebastian followed. "How long do we wait?"

"Until it is inadvisable to remain here."

"If we have to wait longer than twenty minutes, I'm catching a cab,” Ciel told him. "I'm not staying in the cold any longer than I have to." And then they could go and find Bard.

Sebastian pursed his lips slightly, looking at something over Ciel's shoulder. Automatically, Ciel glanced around. There was a brown-haired man talking to one of the whores on the street corner, not chatting the way gentlemen callers usually did, but low, intense speech; when she was done talking, she looked both ways and held her hand out for the guinea that the man gave her before bolting back around the corner. When he turned around, Ciel realized with a start that it was Bartholomew Cutter.

Bartholomew Cutter had been one of the men who had followed Beddor into the library on the night of the party, the one dressed as a Japanese emperor. Early thirties at the most, brown hair, brown eyes, quite nondescript except for the nervous tic in his jaw. It was a miracle Ciel had recognized him; the last time he'd seen the man he'd been dressed up in some ridiculous version of a Japanese robe and had looked about twenty pounds fatter. Cutter glanced around, nonchalantly, before disappearing into the building. Ciel didn't even have to order his butler to do anything; the demon had vanished. Ciel thought he saw a dark shape leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and and no one would be inebriated enough to look up as Ciel crossed the street and followed Cutter into the ramshackle whorehouse.

It was exactly what he'd been trapped in as a child, after his parents had died. Exactly the place he had never wanted to return to again. It stank of unwashed bodies and blood and old gin and perfume; the curtains were torn, and there was a layer of trash on the floor like an endless carpet. No one paid attention to him as he slunk through, trying to fight the smell. He wasn't sure if it was because all the women were more likely girls with sunken eyes and haunted expressions, or if it was because of the men who were stumbling around. Some of them were sprawled flat out on the floor, naked and snoring. He stepped over one of them and followed the creak of the stairs.

He was on the first landing when someone caught his arm. One of the whores. Her breasts were almost popping out of her shirt; the corset was cinched far too tight. Her cheeks were nothing more than puddles of rouge. "I can give y'what y'want, m'lord. Y'want me on my—"

"Stop." To his own surprise, his voice was soft. Ciel lifted her fingers off his sleeve one by one, and shook his head. "I'm not here for that."

She swayed on her feet, and for the first time he smelled the drink coming off her. Her eyes, though, were as sharp as razors. She was probably no older than fourteen, with curly black hair and bright blue eyes. Her accent was Irish. "Eh?"

"What's your name?" People were more willing to talk to you if you knew their name, treated them as human. Especially people of this sort.

"Scarlett. Who're you?"

"Peter." It was the first name that came to mind. "What's your real name, Scarlett?"

She licked her thin lips. "M'name's Colleen."

He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it in her palm. "Did a man just go upstairs, Colleen? Thirties. Brown hair, brown eyes."

Colleen went stiff at the feel of the coin, and stared at him for a moment before settling her fingers around it and shoving it between her breasts for safekeeping. "'course. 'm not stupid. 'n 'm not drunk, either. He comes here every week."

She didn't look drunk. Ciel hesitated, and glanced back up the stairs. If Sebastian could find a window, he would be able to detail the whole of Bartholomew Cutter's conversation with whoever was up there. "Why?"

"Why does anyone come 'ere?" she snapped. "Not that smart, are ya, Peter?" She pronounced it ‘Payter.’ "He comes 'round every week t'have a go at Mollie. That's all."

Her eyes were shifting back and forth though. Ciel tilted his head. "Really."

"Well, aren't you a right old toff." She reared back, and without even asking, her fingers brushed his bangs out of his face. She went abruptly still at the sight of the patch; her cornflower blue eyes grew as wide as plates. "You're 'im."

"I'm not anyone."

"You're the Watchdog."

"Maybe."

She didn't shrink back. Colleen put a hand on her hip. "You here for Cutter?"

"I'm interested in what he's doing, yes."

"Good." She spat the word. "We don't like him."

"Why?" This whore might turn out to be more of a gold mine than he'd anticipated. "Is he rough?"

"No. He doesn't come here for this." She waved her hand at the rotting curtains and the rank bed that he could see over her shoulder in one of the empty rooms. "But the girls he likes, he takes 'em away. They don't come back."

He should have just walked away from her. There was something in her face, though, something in her eyes, that reminded him of someone he used to know. Ciel hesitated, and then held his hand out to the girl. "Come on."

She shrank back.

"Not for that, idiot." He could feel his ears going pink and he hated himself for it. "I need you to show me where Mollie's room is."

"Why?"

"Do you want payment for it, is that it?"

"I want to know  _why,_ " she said, and set her jaw in a stubborn line. Ciel fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. No one was cooperating this evening, not Beddor, not Bard, not the prostitute, not even the voice in his own head that kept nagging him about Elizabeth Middleford.

"Because I need to know more about what he's doing in order to stop him."

Colleen searched his face for a long moment, but only for a moment. Deliberation over, she put her hand into Ciel's and tugged him up the stairs.

There were only candles set into the wall on the third floor, and it might as well have been lit by fireflies. He could barely see in front of him, but Colleen's steps were sure and certain as she led the way down the hall to one of the last rooms on the left. She pushed open the door without knocking; ignoring the naked woman in the bed beside them, she pushed the molding chair aside and peeled up some of the wallpaper, where the wall was thin, and gestured to him. "Well? G'on. You wanted to see what they were about."

He studied Colleen, debating, before crouching down beside her and peering through the crack in the wall.

Ciel could see very little of the room beyond—it was better lit then the one they occupied, but still, the definition of 'lit' was different in this part of London. There was a woman's arm hanging off the edge of the bed, pale and long; her fingers trailed on the floor. As he watched, the thumb twitched, and she rolled over as Ciel pulled the small knife out of his boot and worked slowly away at the hole, making it bigger. Slowly but surely, more of the room came into view. Cutter had taken his jacket off, and rolled his sleeves up like a surgeon did before an operation. Ciel gritted his teeth and refused to think of Madame Red, and her razors and the abortions that had condemned so many whores to death, and kept his eye to the hole. Unlike a surgery, there was no scalpel, nothing; just Cutter rummaging around in his bag.

"He's been t'see Mollie for a couple weeks now,” Colleen said, whispering in his ear. She had her fingers clenched tight around his elbow. "Always locks th'door. She's the fifth."

If he visited each woman for a few weeks and there had been five women…Ciel estimated fourteen weeks. Maybe more.  _What the hell is he doing?_

Liquid spattered the floor, and as Cutter turned, Ciel saw the syringe in his hand and forgot how to breathe.

"Last one,” Cutter said, and as Ciel watched he sank the needle into the whore's arm and pushed the plunger down. She moaned; her eyelids fluttered; her dirty blonde hair plastered over her face. For an instant, it could have been Elizabeth, and he felt his heart pounding in his throat. Cutter pulled the syringe away, and slipped it back into his bag; he sat in the nearby chair, and began to rub Mollie's hand, over and over again. "Can you hear me?"

"Can you hear me, you stupid bitch?"

Mollie jerked, and whispered something. Cutter grew very excited; he rubbed her hand faster. "You can hear me, can you tell me my name?"

"Cutter." The word was a groan. Her eyes were still closed, but flickering wildly beneath the lids. "Cutter."

"And you know where to come?"

"Factory,” she moaned, and then rolled over and vomited. The sound was obscene. Cutter never let go of her hand. Sweat beaded his forehead; his eyes were hard and focused.

"You'll come to us, my dear, won't you?"

Colleen's fingers dug into his arm.

" _Yes_."

* * *

 

There were many things Lizzy knew Ciel would never do. One was betray Queen Victoria. Another was play the clarinet. But there were a lot of things she would have never expected out of Ciel that he did anyway. Tonight was no exception.

She had been brushing her hair out when a raven tapped at her window with a note clenched in its beak.

_I'm at the back door. Come quickly. Please._

It was the scrawled 'please' that made her pull on her robe and slip out of the house.

For an instant, she didn't recognize him. Ciel was dirty and freezing cold; he wasn't even wearing a jacket. She couldn't see Sebastian, and that shocked her more than anything else; she wordlessly stepped out of his way as he slipped inside, and a shadow followed him in, one wearing his jacket and trembling as though she would blow over in a strong wind.

"What are you  _doing_ here?" she hissed, once Ciel shut the door behind them. The kitchen was empty, for once—no wonder, considering it was almost two in the morning. "Ciel, you can't just show up here at this time of day! What if Mama had been here? She would be furious!"

"She's not here?"

"No, she went out to the country because of an issue with her horses." Frances loved horse-breeding. "Anyway, it's just me here right now. Papa's still at the palace, I think."

"Who's  _she_?" came a lofty Irish voice from behind Ciel, and for the first time Lizzy realized that the shadow actually was a human being. She had dark hair, sharp blue eyes, freckles, and was absolutely  _not_  the sort of person who was supposed to be in this part of London.

"I believe that's my question, miss,” Lizzy snapped, and glared at Ciel. "What the bloody hell is going on, Ciel? Where's Sebastian?"

"Outside." He waved this off. "I can't take her to the manor, Elizabeth. I need to hide her somewhere."

This must be what being stabbed felt like. Lizzy took another look at the girl—the doxie, she supposed—beside Ciel, and wondered if she'd ever hated someone so much in her life. "I will  _not_  hide your whore, Ciel Phantomhive."

The whore opened her mouth, but fell quiet when Ciel glared at her. He swung that glare around to Lizzy; she glared back with everything in her.

"She's not my whore. She's  _a_ whore. But I swear to you, Elizabeth, I have no interest in whores."

"And I suppose I can trust you, can I?" Lizzy said, her voice dripping with venom. "Don't take me for a fool, Ciel."

"I'm not—" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "For God's sake. I know you're angry with me, all right? But I couldn't think of anywhere else to hide her."

"Don't need t'be hidden,” the whore said, but shut up when both Ciel and Lizzy snarled, " _Be quiet_!" in her face.

"And you need to hide her why?"

He only raised an eyebrow. Lizzy glared at him, and then gave the girl a second glance. She felt her heart soften a little bit; without a word she pulled one of the cloaks that the footmen used from the hook beside the door and offered it to her. "You'll have to bathe before you change, but you wear that for now so you don't freeze. And the fire should still be stoked."

The girl looked at her with a wary, almost rude expression that only changed when she swung the cloak around her shoulders. Lizzy had no doubt that she'd probably ransack the place if she was left unsupervised for a minute, but there was a shaky innocence there too, and hope. She retreated to sit practically in the fireplace, holding her hands as close to the coals as she could without burning herself. Lizzy frowned at her fiancé, and pulled down another cloak.

"You wear that."

Ciel frowned at her.

"Wear it or I throw both of you out,” she snapped. "And sit down before you fall over."

Once she'd called Paula down to take care of the girl-whore—Paula didn't even comment, but whisked her away for a bath and food—Lizzy joined Ciel at the kitchen table and said, "I don't want to know about the whore. She can stay here as long as I'm the only Middleford in the house, but you can't expect me to keep her forever, because I won't. But I want to know the reason why. So unless you want me to terminate our engagement right here and now, Phantomhive, you are going to explain yourself. Do you understand me?"

He stared at her. "Elizabeth—"

"This is the last time I am going to say this to you, Ciel, so you listen to me." She glanced over at the whore, and then lowered her voice. " _I will not be a pawn in your games_. I am  _not_ going to be the sort of woman who waits for her husband to get home, content and wrapped up in kittens and plush carpets. I'm  _not_ going to do what you tell me to do, without even questioning why. I wasn't born for that, I wasn't raised for that, and you are not going to force me to do anything that I don't want to do. Do you understand?"

His voice was rather strangled as he looked at her, his eye wide. There was something in his expression she had never seen before. "Yes."

Lizzy blinked a few times in surprise.  _That was a lot easier than I thought._  "What's going on, Ciel?"

"I can't—"

"You're going to tell me everything. If you come in here at two in the morning demanding assistance, you're going to tell me why, damn you. Do you understand me? I have terms, and if this—" she waved her hand between them, trying to encompass the words  _engagement_ and  _marriage_  and whatever it was they had between them, if anything, in a single gesture "—is going to continue, then you are going to listen to them and agree to them. Otherwise I am going to throw you out on the street, along with the whore, and tomorrow morning you'll read in the paper that our engagement has come to an end."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he rocked back in his seat, and she wondered, her heart twisting in her chest, if he was going to get up and leave. But all he did was steeple his fingers and set his elbows on the table, looking at her very intently, as though he was studying a painting that he'd never noticed before. "Declare your terms."

She nearly fell out of her chair. He actually seemed to be listening. For the first time in days, she started to have hope that the stalemate would end. "….you're joking."

"I don't joke, Lizzy."

Well, that was true. She still hesitated. "You're actually going to agree."

"If I find them reasonable. Possibly." Ciel paused. "And not all at once. I'll have to consider some of them."

A true Phantomhive until the end, then. She nodded. "There are only a few."

"Good, because I'm exhausted and Sebastian is waiting outside."

 _Why doesn't he come in?_  she thought, but didn't voice it. Sebastian had threatened to kill her. She didn't want him in her house. She would tolerate him in work, but she didn't want him in her home. "All right." Lizzy took a breath. "Don't treat me like a fool."

She rather thought he would have protested, said something about how he never treated her like a fool, that he'd always respected her intelligence. But he didn't, and that surprised her. After a moment, he inclined his head, sharply. "Agreed."

"So quickly?"

"It's almost impossible to treat you like a fool anymore, Elizabeth, it's not that much of an ask."

Lizzy clenched her hand into a fist and forced herself not to squash his nose. "Don't be arrogant, Ciel. It's a highly unattractive and perpetually annoying quality."

He blinked at her in surprise, but fell quiet again. If he had been a cat, his tail would have been lashing back and forth.

"Second." She drew a breath. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning discussion. Meaning if you're going to do something that will put you in danger, I want to know about it so I don't live the rest of my life waiting for you to come home. So I know if someone's killed you."  _So I know who to kill._  "And that applies to myself as well. If I'm going to do something dangerous—don't interrupt me, Ciel. If I'm going to do something dangerous, I will at least inform you where I'm going and who I'm attempting to investigate. Because I will be investigating, Ciel, whether you like it or not."

He glared at her. He didn't nod, but nor did he shake his head, which she took as a good sign. She wet her lips, and took a breath. This would be the one that he would fight. "I demand full involvement in and knowledge of your investigations."

"Elizabeth—"

"I've already given you my reasoning as to why, and I don't want to have to explain myself again, Ciel."

"Well, explain it to me in a way that makes sense, because I'm not thinking of anything that justifies that."

How could he still not understand? Lizzy took a breath. It felt like she'd stolen it. "My entire life, Ciel, I have been trained to become the wife of the Queen's Watchdog. I can pass as a society woman if I have to, but…but I don't want to have to. This is who I am. I fence, I fight. I can break a man's arm or poison his drink or kill him if I have to. I can't take all that knowledge out of my head just because you don't want me involved. And I want to be involved because—"  _because I care about you. Because I don't want to lose you. Because you're mine and I'm not letting you go, not ever._ "—because I don't want to lose the one person who might be able to understand just what it is that I do."

Ciel looked at her for a long moment, and tilted his head inquisitively. She could practically see the cogs of his brain working behind his visible eye. "Continue."

Lizzy cleared her throat. "I've trained for this since I've been a child, and I hid it from you because, like a child, I thought you would hate me for it. But I understand now that I have a duty to this country and a duty to my queen, just like you do, and my duty is being the wife of the Queen's Watchdog and all that entails. I refuse to hide away in the house while you put yourself in danger. I love this country just as much as you do, and I will  _not_ allow you to keep me hidden away like a china doll. That's not my job nor is it my duty, because becoming the wife of the Queen's Watchdog is nothing like becoming the wife of an earl who spends his time crafting toys in the countryside."

His mouth quirked a little bit. "Admitted."

"And you still expect me to be the wife of the toymaker?"

Ciel hesitated. He stood, and began to pace. She watched him walk back and forth in front of the fire, patiently, because even though she was fairly aching to seize him by the throat and shake him back and forth until he gave her a straight answer, that never worked with Ciel, no matter how many times she tried to do it. Finally, he stopped, and said, "Do you understand why I would feel reluctant to give you that?"

"You want to keep me out of it because you think I can't handle it." She hesitated. "I think."

He shook his head wordlessly, and raked a hand through his hair. The words were wrenched from him, piece by piece, like someone was prying them out of his chest with a knife. "It contaminates people, Lizzy."

"I know that."

"No, you don't. You've been on the fringe your whole life, you don't know what these investigations do to people."

She processed that, slowly. "And that's why you don't want me in it."

Ciel grunted. She assumed that meant a yes. After a moment, Lizzy stood, and pulled her dressing gown close around her, wondering why her eyes were stinging. She cleared her throat. "I'm sure that Sebastian's waiting for you outside. You should go home. There should be a cab for you. I'm sure Michael called one."

She began to turn away. His hand closed, hot and rough, around her wrist; Lizzy turned back to look at him, and her eyes spread wide. Ciel looked desperate. Ciel  _never_ looked desperate. "Lizzy—"

Her voice was surprisingly level. "What?"

They stared at each other for a moment. It wouldn't be much longer until he caught up with her, she noticed; they were almost even. Well, almost. Now that neither of them were in heels it was more noticeable. He stood there, looking at her, for a long moment, before realizing that he'd grabbed her and letting go. The spot where he'd touched her tingled. "Nothing. Never mind."

She hesitated. Then she lifted her hand up to his face, smoothing her fingertips over his cheekbone. It was an instinct, and she felt him freeze under her hand, but kept it there anyway; she pressed her palm to his cheek. "Please be safe."

There was something in his face that she couldn't identify. Ciel turned, and walked out the back door, and it wasn't until she stumbled back to her chair and pressed her hands to her chest that she realized her hands were shaking and that he still hadn't explained himself.


	10. His Fiancée, Babysitting

She'd only been asleep for an hour when the crash of shattering porcelain snapped her up out of bed, her heart pounding as though she'd run a marathon. And, for a single blessed moment, she didn't recognize the Irish brogue that echoed through the halls, at true banshee level:

" _What the fecking hell do y'think yer doin' to me!_ "

And then she remembered Ciel's late night visit, and the Irish whore, and all Lizzy wanted to do was cram the pillow over her head and forget the world. The fact that the whore was still in the building was a miracle in and of itself; half the reason she hadn't been able to sleep was because of the constant (if muffled) argument between Colleen and Paula, with Paula trying to convince her to stay and Colleen steadfastly trying the locks of every door and window she could get her hands on, convinced that this was a trap. The only thing that made her stop was a reminder that Ciel had told her to stay.

Lizzy wasn't sure if the fact that Colleen suddenly went silent and meek at the mention of the Queen's Watchdog was good or bad for her sanity. Either way, it meant she had a weapon to use, until she drilled the fear of God, Queen, Country, and Rapier into the whore.

Preferably in the last-to-first order.

Considering the fact that Edward would be back from his assignment sometime this afternoon though, she wouldn't be able to do much about that. Lizzy threw the covers back, wrapped her dressing gown around herself, and followed the sound of the Irish curses.

Colleen was either a new import from Ireland to England, or had spent enough time around Irish sailors to pick up some truly fabulous swearwords. Of course, none of them except Michael, Paula's husband, would be able to understand any of them.

"You stupid little slut!" Whittacker said, crouching in front of the laundry cabinet. "You come out of there right now, or so help me I'll put you back out on the street myself, milady's orders or no!"

There was an explosive noise that could only be described as a snort at that, and in the darkness of the laundry cabinet (all the laundry had been kicked out onto the floor) Lizzy spotted a flash of furious blue eyes and a pale shoulder.

"You ain't gettin' anywhere  _near_ me!"

And there was another eruption of Irish that meant Colleen was cursing them to Constantinople and back. Lizzy tightened her hands into fists, and drew a deep, cleansing breath. Then she took another one. There was no time for this. Edward was coming back at noon, or thereabouts, and after having lunch with him Rebecca would be coming to visit and tagging along to Nina's so that they could both have new dresses made. There was no _time_  for the whore to be doing this, and no time for Whittacker to be making things worse.  _I can't believe Mother hired this woman._

Whittacker backed away from the cupboard, looking like she wanted nothing more than to lock the little whore inside and leave her there until the end of time. When she spotted Lizzy, all the blood fled her face. Lizzy gestured to the side, so Whittacker followed her to the end of the hall. "What happened?"

"I put her near the water and she started to scream. She was in a panic, miss, I would've kept her quiet but she broke away from me, and by the time I managed to find her—"

"Go downstairs and get Michael, please,” Lizzy said. "I'll watch her until you get back."  _And when Colleen is taken care of, I'm going to throttle you until you can no longer stand._

Whittacker looked at her for a long moment, wondering, before she bobbed her head and vanished down the hall. Lizzy took another deep breath before sidling up to the edge of the cupboard, out of sight of Colleen. As Whittacker turned the corner, muttering about bratty children, there was a tentative snuffling from inside the cabinet. A moon-white hand appeared on the rim of the door. Lizzy held her breath as, slowly but surely, a scruffy black head poked out and looked around. Before she could retreat, Lizzy seized the girl by the shoulder, dragged her out, and slammed the cabinet door behind her.

" _D'anam don diabhal_!" Colleen shrieked, and raked her nails down Lizzy's arm. Lizzy gritted her teeth rather than scream back, and wrenched the girl around. Colleen's eyes weren't blue any longer, they were black with a thin blue rim; her pupils had swallowed her eyes in her panic. Clearly, Whittacker had been trying to get her into a tub before they'd woken Lizzy; she was only half clothed, her wretched skirt torn around the hem, her torso bared for all to see. There were bruises on her arms and back. Lizzy softened, but only slightly, as Colleen opened her mouth and shrieked like a banshee. There was another flurry of Irish before Lizzy whipped her around and slapped her hard across the face.

Silence hit the hall so fast it felt like a runaway train. Lizzy kept her hold on Colleen's shoulder, just in case the whore tried to bolt, but there was nothing. Colleen was absolutely still, her arm twisted at an awkward angle as she tried to keep her body as far away from Lizzy as possible, her head yanked to the side as though someone had pulled her hair. After a moment, Lizzy let her go, and the Irish girl turned to look at her with the sort of expression she'd seen on beggars in Venice. Like the world had gone too cold for them to understand. After a moment, she pulled off her dressing gown and tucked it around the girl's shoulders, wondering how long Colleen had been shivering.

"You can't be screaming here,” Lizzy said, in a soft voice. "We're not going to hurt you, I promise you that. Ciel left you here for a reason. He is the Queen's Watchdog, and he wants you alive, and no one in this house— _no one_ —is going to go against his word."  _Unless he turns into an idle prat again and I have to slap him as well as her._  "I may not want you here, but that doesn't mean I'm going to throw you out."

Colleen snapped around. " _She_ said—"

"You don't listen to people like Whittacker. You're not their problem. You were given into my keeping. As long as you're in this house, if you have questions, concerns, fears, you come to me. You understand me?"

The whore calming down a little now, breathing a little slower. Her eyes were turning normal. Lizzy glanced at the girl's arm. There were no needle marks, nothing to indicate that the girl was anything other than lucid most of the time except for the strong smell of gin that was still coming off her in waves.

Resigned to her role of babysitter, Lizzy let out a long sigh. "Come on. I want to get you cleaned up a little bit before I have to go out."

Colleen nodded with huge eyes, and let Lizzy lead her back down the hallway.

Lizzy still wasn't entirely sure what Ciel's game was in leaving Colleen with her instead of taking her back to Phantomhive Manor. Of course, she understood the logic of it—Ciel received clients there, and the sight of a young female clearly from the wrong side of town would only detract from his stellar, if frightening, reputation, as well as jeopardize their forthcoming marriage in the eyes of society—but at the same time, she didn't know why he was keeping an eye on this girl in the first place. And the whore was aggravatingly tight-lipped about the whole thing. Not even the most direct question earned her anything other than a wide-eyed, close-mouthed look of apology. It took another hour to get her cleaned up enough to at least be semi-presentable (Lizzy ended up having to chop half of her hair off, so that it was in a somewhat less ragged bob around her head; nothing else really to do about it) and dressed in one of Paula's old dresses that had been taken up for a housemaid who had left years ago. By the time they were done, Colleen hadn't said another word, except for a soft exclamation or two when Lizzy accidentally smacked a bruise. Eventually, Whittaker brought Michael up, and Lizzy deposited the whore in his keeping. His soft Irish made Colleen's face light up in a way that almost didn't belong, some sort of ethereal happiness that would have been impossible to see under all the dirt and muck and fierce shields that had been up around her the night before. Lizzy nodded a thank you in Michael's direction, and went to change herself.

She was reading letters in the drawing room when Edward swanned in, stinking of horse and beaming at her. Ignoring her squawk of surprise, he swept her up into a hug that took her feet off the floor and spun her in a sickening circle. " _Ma petite soeur_!"

"Put me down, Ed, you barbarian!" She cried, but she was laughing. Edward grinned at her, set her on her feet again, and let her hug him back. "How was France?"

"Delightful weather. Delightful people. Delightful work."

"Ergo, it was dreadful,” Lizzy said with a grin. It stretched her face in a way that made her nervous. She hadn't grinned in a long time, it seemed. "Don't tell me you met some delicious French girl that Papa would adore and Mama would heartily disapprove of."

"Don't tempt me, Lizzy, if I made up stories Mama would smack my hand with a ruler."

"I won't ask what Papa and the Queen had you working on, I know you can't talk about it." She hugged him once more, and then wrinkled her nose. "Go and wash up before having lunch with me, please. I don't particularly want to smell sweat and horse the whole time I'm eating."

Lizzy waited until he was out of the room before looking at the letter again, and worrying the inside of her cheek. Theodore Parker's healthy scrawl stared back at her.

_I may have to face Ciel today after all._

* * *

 

At first when Bard woke up, he thought he'd been drinking again. There was no other explanation for why his head would be pounding that way, or why his mouth tasted like he'd been kissing a corpse. There wasn't much else he could think, when he'd been left face down in the gutter. Had he forgotten to do something? He wasn't sure.

Then he lifted his head and realized he wasn't face down in the gutter after all, but face down in a mud puddle. And the mud puddle wasn't outside, but in a small airless room with a high ceiling, dirty walls, and a mud-smeared concrete floor. No door. No windows. He rolled over, wincing at the way his knee protested ( _when the hell did that happen?_ ) and stared at the ceiling. If he focused hard enough he could see a thin seam about ten feet above his head: a trapdoor around three feet square.

 _They must have dropped me_.

Bard shook his head furiously. The question was who dropped him and why, not how the hell he'd ended up in this room in the first place. His hands weren't bound, but his feet might as well have been; when he glanced down at his knee it was swollen to twice its normal size. Even looking at it made it throb angrily.  _Well, that can't be good_.

They'd stripped him of his uniform, as well; his cooking goggles were gone, and the white chef's coat had been replaced with a rough button-down shirt, the kind he'd hated in America. He unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows so his arms could breathe, and then heaved himself up into a sitting position, propping his back up against the wall. Even that made his head swim and his stomach roll.

Bard knew from experience that memory would be coming back slowly, especially after being conked in the head with a large metal object (because there was no other way they—whoever  _they_ were—would have been able to subdue him long enough to get him unconscious otherwise). So he sat there and closed his eyes and when he opened them again, images were filtering through his mind. Waiting with the carriage for Sebastian and Master Ciel, freezing his ass off in the cold by the Thames. Waiting, waiting, waiting, and he'd lit one of the cigarettes that Maylene had given him for Christmas just to have something to do. The horses had panicked at something. He'd stepped down off of the driver's seat…

 _A rush of black, freakish fast, and cold hands around his throat_  —

His memory cut off there. Bard drew a breath, a slow one, and let it out even slower before closing his eyes again. His head hurt too much for him to try and remember anything else today.

He didn't know how long he slept for. There was no way he could measure time, not in a room without windows or anything other than the soft light of the lantern that hung from the ceiling. He slept and he woke and he slept again, and sometimes he wondered why Sebastian and Ciel hadn't come to find him yet, and other times he wondered if this was all just a dream and he was still sitting unconscious in the middle of the road, and oh, would Sebastian lecture him for that one. His knee still hurt too much to really be real, but the fourth time he woke up he forced himself to probe it and figured out that it wasn't broken, just damned sore and twisted up.  _I'm not escaping by myself anytime soon._

It was the creak of the trapdoor that woke him again, and the weighty thump of something falling into the pit. When Bard squinted through his half-shut eyes, he saw a bundle, no bigger than an infant.

"I'm guessing that's my bread and water,” he shouted up at the ceiling, or tried to shout; his voice was too hoarse and it just came out as a croak. "Come down here so I can see my concierge. I don't like staying at a place without knowing who's putting me up, you know?"

There was silence for a moment. The trapdoor remained open. Bard leaned forward, trying to see through the dark hole. He thought he caught a glimpse of silver before the door slammed shut again, and he frowned.

Silver. Silver didn't make sense. There was no need for someone to be wearing silver, not in the part of town he'd been in. And a silver mask…

A mask.

Bard let out an impatient breath (why was he so idiotic sometimes?) and dragged himself to the bundle. It was bread, sure, but there was a flask too, and when he cracked it open and sniffed the alcohol in it burned his nose. And there were bandages, and —

Pain. A sudden snap of pain and the scent of blood filled his nose. Bard drew his hand out of the package and stared at the sudden gleam of metal. His mind wasn't comprehending. Pain, and a round carapace, and the click of metal jaws.

Bard screamed.

* * *

 

_Elizabeth,_

_Here's to wishing that I could be spending time in the townhouse messing around with poetry along with your splendid self rather than suffer through business meetings all day. You won't believe what some of the men are like here—or maybe you do, considering your fiancé's line of work. It's like salvaging a shipwreck, one disaster right after another in developing these new dyes. The flowers we're importing for the new colors aren't working out quite like we thought. We're not getting quite enough of them, and it's incredibly troublesome to deal with._

_I heard from Beddor that you've expressed an interest in the mythology of the Orient, and I have some good news for you. Next week, with the Orient in mind, I'm holding a little get-together near Kensington that you'd probably be interested in going to. It's a bit of a séance, I'm afraid—Beddor, who manages the building, can't get enough of the stuff, and a lot of it is his call anyway—but we all decided that you should come, seeing as you're helping us out with your fiancé._

_Répondez s'il vous plait, mademoiselle! And at the risk of looking like a fool, I'm begging you: don't leave me to suffer the old fools alone. None of them can turn a phrase quite like you can._

_Sincerely,_

_Theodore_

Ciel kept his head angled towards the letter, but flicked his eyes up towards Elizabeth. She wasn't looking at him—her face was turned to the side, her bright green eyes fixed on something out the window in the fog-encrusted street. Her hands were clasped lightly together in her lap; she wasn't even blushing. Instead, she looked rather detached from it all, and for some reason that irritated him. He lowered the letter. "You're not encouraging his ardor, are you?"

"Of course I am,” she responded, without looking at him. "How else am I supposed to get a single grain of information out of him, Ciel, if I don't pander to his game? And don't you dare say because it's improper, you've done much worse things than flirt a little to get your way."

This might have been true, but that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed seeing Elizabeth flirting with an American who could easily kill her if she so much as mentioned opium flowers. Fighting the urge to crunch the letter in his hand, Ciel set it carefully on the table. "Are you going to the party?"

"Obviously. It's taken me a while to convince them how much I hate you. If I don't go, they'll realize it's all a sham and probably send a fancy assassin after me."

"You can't joke about this sort of thing, Elizabeth, it's not funny in the least."

"To you it isn't,” she said, and flicked her fan open to hide her face. Her eyes were anything but humorous, so he let the barb pass. "I'm only telling you about this, Ciel, because I promised you that if I was going to do something dangerous—"

"You mean stupid?"

"—I would tell you before I did so." Lizzy frowned. "Besides, I highly doubt you'll let an opportunity like this one pass without saying something about it."

He wouldn't. Generally. Ciel studied her. She still wasn't looking at him—the fog outside was demanding her full attention—but if he tried he could still read her expression, a mixture of stubborn determination and wariness, like she was waiting for him to slap her down again. Their conversation of the night before was still resounding in his head, the tentative way she'd reached out to him like she'd been afraid of even speaking her mind around him. And despite the fact that he still wasn't sure if he could accept her terms, he could see in her face how much she needed him to.

The fact that his instincts screamed at him to accept—no matter what his common sense was telling him—disturbed him.

He hadn't really had an opportunity to really study her face since she'd returned and thrown the entire investigation into a whirlwind of frustration, confusion, and—as much as he hated to say it—results. The angle of her jaw was different; she'd lost the roundness of face that she'd had before, or, rather, it had been displaced into a mixture of softness and sharp angles that suddenly startled him. Her fingers were longer, too, and her arms…muscled wasn't an appropriate term for a girl, but they were wiry. He had no doubt that she'd been training just the way she said she had, fencing, fighting, anything she could poke her nose into. The curiosity hadn't vanished, and neither had the stubbornness, but it seemed like just about everything else had shifted into something new, and foreign, and undeniably familiar.

Lizzy had grown up, he realized all of a sudden, and something in him snapped. His endlessly infuriating, endearing, frustratingly naïve little cousin had grown up, and if she wasn't a woman yet, she would be soon. Lizzy had gone and grown up without him noticing, and she'd turned beautiful in the mix.

Lizzy. Beautiful.

He shoved that thought away as though it had burned him.

"Ciel." The fan tapped his wrist, drawing his attention back to her. For some reason, Ciel could no longer look her quite in the eye. "I'm going to go. You know that. Don't you?"

He heaved a long-suffering sigh, and was relieved to hear that his voice didn't crack when he said, "I don't think I should be surprised."

Lizzy sat back in her chair and looked at him for a long moment, her head tilting slightly to one side. A curl of hair draped down over her cheek. "You won't fight me?"

 _I should_ , he thought to himself, and glanced at Sebastian who was standing by the door. But the butler did nothing, only smiled that depressing Mona Lisa smile that meant big things were going through that too-sharp mind.  _I really should fight about it._  But for some reason all he said was, "I have a sinking feeling that you wouldn't listen to me even if I did forbid it."

She sniffed, hiding a smile behind her fan. "I don't have to obey your commands yet, Ciel Phantomhive, and you can pretty much take it for granted that that day will never come no matter what happens."

They looked at each other for a moment, and the silence wasn't awkward, for once. It was comfortable. Ciel clenched his hand into a fist around the head of his walking stick. Suddenly he was nervous. And he was never nervous around Elizabeth. He cleared his throat.

"I don't want you going alone."

The moment broke into a thousand pieces, like a glass vase hitting marble. Lizzy made a grouchy noise.

"And who do you expect me to take, Ciel? Paula isn't exactly trained. And I can't bring an escort, not when I'm going to flirt with Parker."

"I don't think you should go alone, and if you try, I won't hesitate to lock you in the cellar."

The instant he said it he knew it was a mistake. Lizzy stood, and in her heels (when had she started wearing heels?) she towered over him. She forced her fan into his face. "Don't you  _dare_  pander to me, Ciel Phantomhive. I won't go alone, don't worry. But I  _dare_ you to try locking me in the cellar. You won't like what happens."

With that she turned and stalked out of the room, skirting the door that Sebastian guarded to disappear down the hallway. Ciel resisted the urge to watch her go, and fought back a sigh.

Damn women. He was never going to be able to understand them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'anam don diabhal: Irish for "go to the devil."


	11. His Fiancée, Teaching

When Bard woke up again, his hand was lying in a pool of blood, and it was missing two fingers.

Or, at least, it had been. Some enterprising soul—or non-soul, he thought, when he rolled over and caught a glint of silver out of the corner of his eye—had, through some miracle, sewn his ring and pinky fingers back onto his hand. They hadn't bothered to use anesthetic; his whole arm was throbbing with pain. He had to grit his teeth in order to even be able to push himself upright, let alone move the bandaged hand anywhere at all.

In the corner, the silver beetle fluttered its wings and began to crawl up the wall opposite him. Bard watched it, and squinted. It looked like an insect, but just like with the masked man above the trapdoor, it was made entirely of silver. It was also ticking, though he thought it would be stupid for anyone to throw a bomb down here. First of all it would blow up the house, and that would be completely obvious to anyone who was looking for odd occurrences—like, say, the young master. Secondly, if it was a bomb, it would have probably gone off by now.

He drew a breath and watched the beetle. It was still now, no longer moving, but the curious ticking was still filtering through the damp air. It was roughly the size of his fist, he thought, and he could see the pincers even at this distance, which, coupled with the pain in his hand, wasn't exactly the best encouragement to get any closer to the damn thing.

"You shouldn't have gone rooting through the package."

It was a girl's voice. Bard jumped, swore loudly, and pulled his injured hand in close against his chest as a slender cloaked figure—how could he have not noticed her before?—stepped away from the wall and pushed her hood back. She was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, and her long hair was in curls around her face. She was also clean, and Bard wondered how she'd found this place. Wondered if it was a hallucination.

At least it was a pretty hallucination, anyway. He tapped the back of his head against the wall, and winced when the vibrations made it down to his swollen throbbing hand. "I assumed it was for me."

"It was, but it was for later,” she said. Her voice was curiously dull. "You were supposed to take it with you when we set you free."

"Yeah, I notice there's not a lot of that setting-free bit going on here." He lifted his uninjured hand. "Come on, blondie, help a man out. I kinda need to get home. I'm sure my boss is missing me."

Sebastian…well, maybe not. But they didn't need to know that.

"No." The girl pulled her cloak in closer around herself, and for the first time Bard realized that she was wearing little more than a shift. He cleared his throat and looked away. "You've hurt yourself, and when one of the Scarabs bites you, it takes a long time to heal. Master Collins needs to tend to it especially, otherwise it won't be fixed."

"I think I can find another doctor, kid."

"Master Collins must tend to it," she repeated. "Otherwise you will lose the arm. The poison was only just drawn out in time, and that was only because you screamed."

"I didn't  _scream_."

"You screamed."

He was getting a little irritated with his hallucination. "Look, go away, will you? I don't think I can stand any more of this. I don't need hallucinations to tell me what's wrong with me."

Her nose crinkled. "I am not a hallucination."

Bard didn't even bother to respond. He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the pounding in his hand.

When he opened his eyes again, a few minutes—a few hours—days, who knew?—later, the girl was gone, and the beetle was resting comfortably on his boot.

He didn't bother shaking it off. After all, even if she was a hallucination, maybe she was right about the poisoned fangs.

* * *

 

Lizzy had just riposted one of Ed's more flourishing attacks when she spotted Colleen out of the corner of her eye, tucked into the corner with her knees up against her chest. She wasn't particularly surprised by the whore's presence—Colleen had been progressively sticking her nose into every aspect of life in the Middleford town house, and Lizzy was certain she would keep on doing it until Lizzy's parents returned and they had to move Colleen somewhere else—but she hadn't found the fencing room before, and now her eyes were as wide as plates.

She parried and retreated, back out of Ed's reach. She couldn't see Colleen anymore—helmets meant tunnel-vision after all—but she did see Edward's eyes flick to the girl in the corner, and an eyebrow went up. Right. Edward didn't know about Colleen.

Lizzy grinned at him, and quit holding back. She attacked, and as the sabers beat together, she forgot about Colleen and Ciel and Sebastian and the Zodiac and the party on Saturday, and just lost herself in the movement. Edward parried and riposted, but she was ready for him, and as she knocked his blade aside she shifted around behind and lashed the sword against the small of his back. Edward squawked. " _Damn_ it, Elizabeth!"

"You've gone soft,” she teased, and slashed her saber through the air. Match point. Bout was hers. And by the looks of things, they weren't going to have another round. "I'm not about to go easy on you. Mama wouldn't."

"God forbid I have to fence with Mama when she comes back." Ed pulled his helmet off and set it on the nearest table before de-gloving and running his hands through his hair. It had gone stringy with sweat. Lizzy bit her tongue, lightly—she was certain hers wasn't all that much better—and then pulled her own helmet off and set it beside her brother's. In the corner, Colleen watched them carefully, poised to bolt. "You've been practicing."

"Of course I have." She frowned at him. "You haven't been. Your back was wide open."

"France was busy." He lifted his eyebrows. "Now, who's this?"

"Colleen. She's staying with us for a little while." She glared at Ed before he could ask another question. The Irish whore looked about ready to bolt from the room. "Colleen, I want you to try something. Come here."

It was like reeling in a cat with fishing twine. She fought every inch of the way. By the time she finally stopped in front of Lizzy, her face was sullen and sour. Lizzy had to wait for her to stand up straight before she offered the girl the saber.

Colleen looked at her with enormous eyes.

"Go on,” she said. "Take it. You need to learn how to defend yourself eventually. You might as well start now." Lizzy gestured to Ed, who wordlessly handed her his own blade, and then jerked her head to the middle of the floor. "Normally I wouldn't let you touch a sword before I finally get you to stand straight, but for now, this will do. Come on."

"There's no fecking way I'm fightin' you!"

"You're not fighting me,” Lizzy said, with a thin smile, and Edward, wonderful brother that he was, went to close the doors. Colleen didn't notice until the click made her whirl, her skirt flaring around her knees. "You're going to try to hit me."

"That's bloody  _insane_!"

"Too scared?" Lizzy taunted. Colleen's eyes went hard.

They made her change into a uniform first. Lizzy let her hold onto the saber. Technically, she should have given the girl a foil—thinner, easier to handle but harder to master, and probably less painful considering her only target would have been the torso—but she didn't particularly feel like switching out, and besides, imposing rules on Colleen right now would only cause problems. Plus, it would mean going up to her room to get the extra foil out from under her bed, and she didn't want to do that either. Edward frowned at her once or twice as she waited for Colleen to figure out the uniform, but she said nothing.

Colleen looked quite nice in the fencing costume. She ignored the way Edward shifted uncomfortably, and marched straight out to the mats where Lizzy waited, sword in hand. The whore had the saber clenched tight in her fist.

"What d'you want me to do?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow quizzically. Lizzy shrugged.

"Try and hit me,” Lizzy repeated, and saluted. Colleen scoffed a bit, and then turned away. Her muscles tensed, and Lizzy knocked away the sloppy thrust that sent Colleen's center of balance way off. Without a word, she smacked the whore in the knee, and then in the back, and Colleen hit the mats with a sound that even made Edward wince. Lizzy pricked her spine with the tip of her sword, and said, "I said, try and hit me."

"I can't hit you!" Colleen rolled over onto her back, and tried to sit up. "This is useless. Just lemme go, will you? I don't want t'stay here any longer than I have to."

This would be a bit more difficult than she anticipated. Lizzy knocked the whore back onto the floor, flicked her saber up to the girl's throat, and snarled, " _Try it_."

Colleen stared at her. Lizzy stared back, waiting, watching for the change. After a moment, Collen clenched her jaw; something in her eyes hardened. She smacked the sword to the side with her gloved hand, and when Lizzy offered her free one, caught that and pulled herself up. Without a word, Edward offered her the free sword, and Colleen took it.

"Don't nag when I hit you,” she snapped, and Lizzy settled into en garde, holding her sword at the ready.

"Don't complain when you don't."

It took about two and a half hours before Colleen finally couldn't handle it anymore. She hit the floor and stayed there, panting, staring up at the high ceiling. To her credit, she hadn't let go of the sword once, though she would be stinging and aching tomorrow as though she'd been trampled by a horse. Lizzy remembered the first time her mother had challenged her to the smacking game, and she'd gone twice as hard on Lizzy as Lizzy had on Colleen. But the bruises still came out the same. Lizzy crouched down next to her, lifting her sweaty hair off the back of her neck, and said, "You nearly scratched my arm. That's better than I did the first time."

Colleen cracked open one eye and looked at her for a long moment. Then she cleared her throat. "Why're you doin' this for me? I mean, you and me aren't….we're not the same."

Lizzy closed her eyes, taking deep gulps of air. "We're all the same, Colleen. All of us who get caught up in the games of the Watchdog, we're all the same. The difference between us is I know how to play. You don't."

Colleen frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"What made Ciel take you away from the whorehouse, Colleen? And before you answer remember, I've known him since we were both children. It wasn't because he wanted to get you out of there, it wasn't just out of the goodness of his heart. Ciel never really does anything out of the goodness of his heart."  _Not anymore_. "There was something there that you saw, something that you know about, that he wanted to keep secret. So he took you out of there. Didn't he?"

"He didn't tell you?" Colleen asked, sitting up. She was actually fairly pretty, Lizzy realized, and bit the inside of her cheek to hide her irritation at that fact. Colleen cocked her head, studying her carefully. "Would've thought, you bein' his fiancée and all…."

"Ciel doesn't know what's good for him, either,” Lizzy said primly, and put on her best snobby expression. "Even when it's obvious."

To her surprise, Colleen stifled a snort. "I like you, toff. Y'have some street'n you."

"I have a feeling I should take offense to that remark."

"Even if you don't talk the way normal people do." Colleen rubbed the tip of her nose, and then said, "I'll tell ya, if y'want. But only if y'teach me how to do that."

She gestured to the sword. Lizzy looked at her. "I've been training for years, Colleen. There's not much I can teach you, especially when I don't know how long you'll be staying."

"You did some o'them physical tricks too, right?" She jerked her head at Edward. "When you was fightin' him. Teach me some o'them. Living where I live…they'd do some of the girls a world o'good."

Lizzy sat back on her heels, and looked at the whore. There was something deadly in Colleen's face, something that reminded her of the look she'd seen on Mama's face during the fight on the  _Campania_. A sort of vicious determination, a kill-or-be-killed thought that only came from someone who knew how to face those deadly situations, and did every day, because they had to. And she wondered how many times Colleen—tiny Colleen with her thin wrists and wiry arms—had been raped because of her age and her size and her sex.

She lost the fight with her smile, and it was as grim as one of her mother's. "Right then. We'll talk tonight. And tomorrow I'll teach you how to break a man's pelvis."

* * *

 

Paula's husband Michael was tall and burly, with the slightest bit of stubble; there were scars on his hands and a scratch on his arm from one of the horses wrenching out of his grip, and his eyes were a soft shade of grey-blue that resembled oceanside clouds. Sometimes, he reminded her a little of Bard. But where Bard was fair, Michael was dark like a gypsy; where Bard was loud, Michael was quiet and calculating. Lizzy had a sneaking suspicion that he was actually part Romani—it explained some things about him that were completely incomprehensible otherwise—but he'd been born and raised in Ireland and worked in multiple noble houses around England, which gave him one of the most eclectic backgrounds of any man she knew.

Before he'd married Paula, he'd been one of Edward's men; that in and of itself should have been enough to reassure her brother (who may not have fully been aware of the situation, but after running into Colleen in the stable with Michael and listening to Lizzy grumble about Ciel knew enough to piece together at least  _part_  of the puzzle). But she was cursed with overprotective men in her life. Edward was insistent in escorting her to the house where the séance party would be, so he would know where she was, and insisted—again—that she carry at least three weapons. Frankly, considering he could have forbidden her from leaving the house at all, she hadn't bothered to argue. At least now she was doing something.

So she was decked out with her pistol, two of her poisoned hat pins,  _and_  a pair of daggers up her sleeves by the time she finally stepped down from the carriage with Michael at her side in his old footman's uniform. He stayed a few steps behind her, as was proper. Lizzy wished she had her rapier parasol, at least, but there wasn't much call for an umbrella in this sort of gathering. Nor did she have her bladed fan, which she would have much preferred over the blades in her sleeves. They were dashed irritating, rubbing against her skin. She could only hope she didn't get cut sometime during the evening.

The house in Kensington was two stories, thin and clearly rarely used; under the heady scent of jasmine incense in the foyer she caught a hint of dust and old wallpaper. The man who took her coat looked Chinese, but she'd met a few Chinamen with her father, and the accents were different. "They are in the billiards room, my lady."

"Are they?" She glanced at Michael. "I was concerned we were late."

"No." He gave her a choppy half-bow. "Follow, please. Not him,” he added, when Michael moved to accompany them. "He stays."

"Michael comes with me,” Lizzy said. The man gestured a no.

"He stays."

There wasn't much they could do about it without being rude. Still, Lizzy paused and looked back at Michael in a question. Ed wouldn't like it at all, but there wouldn't be much he could do about it. After a moment, Michael inclined his head to them both, and said, "I'll wait outside with the carriage, my lady."

"He will—" the man began, but when Lizzy gave him a sharp-eyed look, he went quiet again. She turned back to Michael.

"Don't get too cold." Which meant— _if you get bored, go and explore_.

Michael nodded his head, and vanished back out the door. The Chinaman waited until he heard the door shut before bowing sharply, keeping his eyes away from her. "This way, lady."

If it hadn't been for the sumptuousness of the curtains, and the clear quality of the rarely-used foyer, Elizabeth would have wondered if he was taking her upstairs into an opium den. She kept her gloves on, glad that she'd worn a color that wouldn't show dust quite so easily as the usual white, as the Chinaman turned and led her up a very thin, spiraling staircase to the second floor. What had Theodore said to her about the Zodiac? Not much. He'd played it off as though they were just a group of friends in business together, and she'd been acting stupid and fluttery enough for him to buy that she believed his lie. At least, she hoped he believed in her belief, because otherwise this would turn incredibly sticky incredibly quickly. If Frances heard how reckless she was actually being—and she was being reckless, she knew that, now that she was actually on the grounds of the house—then she would be confined to the Middleford country house until the time came for her to marry Ciel. If she married Ciel after this. She still hadn't heard him give her an answer about anything she'd said.

 _Stop obsessing and focus, Elizabeth_.

The house was eerily quiet. If there was really supposed to be a party going on, it didn't sound like much of a one. Elizabeth kept her mouth shut, and tightened her grip on the hard metal railing of the stairs. Suddenly she was grateful for the fact that Ed had refused to allow her out of the house without multiple kinds of weaponry, and she fought the urge to pull one of the hatpins out of her hair and hold onto it.

The second floor was moderately less dusty than the bottom floor, but it was still obvious that no one had cleaned here in months. She brushed her gloves off, and cocked an eyebrow at the Chinaman, who had stopped walking. "Well?"

"Here,” he said, and jerked his hand towards the nearest door before turning and marching back down the stairs. Elizabeth blinked at the abruptness of the dismissal, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. The soft rumble of voices caught her attention; there were people inside, at least. Women, she realized, and without thinking about it she relaxed a little bit. If there were women at this party she at least knew it wasn't a full trap. The Zodiac—as far as she knew—were all men; she wouldn't be able to handle herself against twelve grown men, no matter how skilled with a blade she was. Not if she didn't have a sword.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the door.

The thick smell of incense rolled out over her like a blanket, and Lizzy fought the urge to cough and cover her nose and mouth with a handkerchief. The room was lit solely by firelight and candles, and dim shapes flickered against the walls. At the sight of her, Theodore stood from where he'd been crammed onto the nearest couch, and bowed over her hand.

"Elizabeth. Lovely to see you."

"Of course,” she said, and her voice was lower than it would have been thanks to the smoke. She couldn't deny, though, it worked out well. His eyes sparked at her as he straightened, and offered her his arm.

"Shall I show you around?"

"Please." She flicked her fan out and held it in front of her face, surreptitiously fluffing the air so she could breathe something that at least  _smelled_  less like whatever it was that was reeking. "I've heard enough about the Zodiac that I want to meet the men behind the masks. You know?"

"Been there, darlin'." His hand ghosted over her hip, and she clenched her teeth so she wouldn't slap him. "Come on. I promise they won't bite."

Lizzy kept the smile plastered on her face all through the introductions, and kept her eyes wide open. Most of them were Englishmen, and most had names she recognized; Henry Collins, the only one tall and burly enough to be Leon, had worked with her brother once or twice on swordplay. Michael Gillian, the oldest of them, probably the man in the fish mask, was well-respected for his weapons manufacturing business. She'd danced with Nathaniel Fotheringay at Rebecca Beddor's birthday party; he couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, not much older than her. Theodore kept a possessive arm around her waist as he whisked her around the room, starting and leaving conversations as swiftly as a hummingbird. The smoke was making her head go wobbly, and eventually Lizzy had relaxed into Theodore's grip, not because she liked it, but because she needed it to stay upright.

 _Opium smoke, maybe_. _Or…I don't know._

"I have a challenge for you, Elizabeth," Parker whispered in her ear, once they'd snatched one of the loveseats and she'd finally been able to pull away from him. She cleared her throat and fanned her face a little harder, trying to inject some clear air into her mind. It didn't work.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A guessing game,” Theodore said, and there was a look in his eyes she'd never seen before. Lizzy shifted her arm so that her knife was in close reach. "And I'm sorry to be rude about it, but I was wondering if I could go first?"

"Of course."

"How long—exactly—have you been spying on us for your fiancé?"

She knew it was coming. She still slapped him for it. The whole room went very quiet and still as Theodore brushed his fingers over his cheek, and stared at her. Lizzy stood up, ignoring the way her knees quivered and thanking Nina for making her skirts so thick; it was impossible for anyone to see. " _How dare you_  ask me that. How  _dare_ you. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for me to be here? And you accuse me of  _spying—_ "

"Don't get your hair in a knot, Elizabeth." He settled back into his easy smile. "I was just asking."

"I've  _never_ told my fiancé about my meetings with you,” she lied, and for the first time she realized what Ciel meant by contamination. This work did contaminate you. It sunk into your soul, and now Lizzy, the girl who had never been able to tell a lie, was lying, and lying well. " _Never_  told him anything about the Zodiac. I hate him, and I wish I could break the engagement, you  _know that_ , Theodore. You  _know_ that I'd rather do anything than marry that—that stupid, selfish, idiotic  _child_. And you  _still_ ask—"

"Elizabeth." He took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him, and for once she let all her frustration into her face. Theodore tucked a curl behind her ear and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry, sweet. I shouldn't have asked you that. Forgive me?"

She made sure to waver before she hitched a slight smile onto her face. "It'll take a while."

"I have no doubt." He led her back to the couch, and when she sat down, sprawled into the other side. "The only reason I ask is because the others wanted to talk to you about possibly joining—or, if not that, at least…offering support to our project."

She frowned. "You mean the dyes?"

"Oh, Lizzy, darling." He lifted her hand to his lips. "We're doing so much more than that. Petrovsky!"

The Russian man who carried the goat-head chain on his pocket watch snapped to attention.

"Get the doll ready, would you?"

Doll? Lizzy stiffened as a few of the men—Jeremiah Anderson and Richard Davies, Taurus and Cancer respectively—began to usher some of the other guests out of the room. The Japanese man, Shira-something, vanished through a nearby door with Petrovsky, and Theodore flicked a glance at her. "You'll be surprised at what we can do, my dear."

"What is it?"

"You'll see." He smiled. "It's what naturally occurs when you put a machinist, a sculptor, and a few other ideas into the mix. It will revolutionize the workforce, Elizabeth—men and women who can work for hours without tiring, without sleep or needing to eat."

"What do you mean?"

"The future of factories, Elizabeth." His eyes flickered towards the door as Shirakawa opened it again. Petrovsky came through the gap, leading a woman by the hand. "The future of manufacturing."

She drew a breath, and the world closed into tunnel vision. The woman looking back at her was wearing a silver mask, and when Petrovsky moved it aside, it was an actual human face. Her eyes were made of glass.

"Meet our first working automata, Elizabeth,” Theodore said, and she seized his elbow before she fainted. "Mollie Ryker."


	12. His Fiancée, Taken By Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: blood, body horror, violence.

She was dying.

The dream had him trapped, and there was nothing he could do about it. Ciel could almost taste blood in his mouth as he watched the circusfolk slice her into pieces, and her long blonde hair was run through with crimson but he couldn't touch her, couldn't reach her, couldn't kill them, and his chest was going tight and he was screaming, screaming, screaming, his hands over his ears, but he could still hear her shrieks through his fingers and there was nothing he could do to save her—

"We're here, my lord."

He snapped awake, and glowered at Sebastian. He could still feel the dream in his bones, in his marrow. He didn't like it. He didn't like the look on Sebastian's face either, that pleased-cat look, the one that said he knew about the nightmare. He might not have known the contents of it, but he knew Ciel had been dreaming, and he hadn't woken him until absolutely necessary. Ciel drew a breath, let it out, and clenched his hands tight, wishing he had his cane with him.

"Good."

The taxi had shuddered to a halt a little over three blocks away from the only London factory they knew of that had connections with the Zodiac, and since it was February (going on March) the air was sharp and icy off the Thames. Ciel rubbed his arms quickly, wishing he had thicker clothes, but his merchant-boy disguise didn't exactly mean expensive silks and thick flannel. It meant thin cotton and a scratchy eyepatch and bad gloves, and when they left the relative safety of the taxicab the wind sliced through him like a scimitar. The not-too-far distant thunderheads wouldn't help much. It would be raining inside half an hour, and then the evil-smelling fog of London would blind them completely. He gestured to Sebastian, who went to the cabbie and paid him to stay there for as long as he could.

"Three-quarters of an hour,” Sebastian said, once he returned to Ciel's side. Ciel sent an evil look at the driver, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it. They only had so much money with them, and they didn't want word getting out that the Queen's Watchdog was snooping around the factories again, so they couldn't drop names. It was highly aggravating.

"Well, then, we'd better get started," said Ciel.

Sebastian smiled, and crushed the padlock in his gloved hands.

The factory was silent, and had been for hours; the workers left at six precisely every night. That didn't mean it was empty though. They clung to the shadows, Sebastian's ears pricked for guards or watchmen, any bootsteps but their own. Ciel kept his hand tight around his pistol, which he'd tucked into his pocket. Elizabeth was still at Parker's party, and would be for a few hours more. So would the rest of the Zodiac, save one or two, and they were accounted for: they were in the whorehouse where Ciel had found Colleen, and this time he doubted it was to collect another woman for whatever it was they were doing. Which meant that the factories, well-guarded as they were, wouldn't be as dangerous to infiltrate, and they were taking advantage of it. Ciel pulled his pistol free of his vest pocket when they came to one of the doors, and Sebastian blew on the lock; it froze, and dropped out of the door to be caught on Sebastian's shoe. He sent another secret-cat smile at Ciel, and pushed open the door.

It was pitch black inside the factory. Great twisted shapes loomed out at them from the darkness. It smelled of sulfur and coal and something sharp that stung at his nose, and when he glanced at Sebastian, the butler's mouth had gone thin and his eyes slitty with surprise.

"Interesting," Sebastian said, with the same air someone mentioned a spoiled pudding. Ciel looked at him, and frustration boiled in his stomach.

"What?"

"Someone's been cutting souls,” Sebastian replied, and moved on before Ciel could respond. His knees locked, and it was all he could do to turn and move a different direction, tracing his bare fingers over the machinery. He couldn't see it very well, especially with one eye covered—he cursed the disguise for a moment—but it looked like a wheat thresher. Of course, it was so dark inside the factory that it could have been a cotton extractor or something. Ciel didn't know enough about machinery to tell.

"Cutting souls?"

"Mm." Sebastian tensed, and then he'd leapt in the air. His shoes tapped lightly against the top of the machine. Ciel kept hunting around the ground, looking for something. He wasn't sure what. Some clue, maybe. He was sick of waiting for Elizabeth to find something, even if her infiltration had been—he gritted his teeth—actually fruitful in some ways. "It's a delicate process, my lord. Souls are resilient things."

"You would be the one to know,” Ciel sniped, and crouched to look under the machinery. Nothing. It was swept clean. There wasn't even any dust. "I don't think any of these are used."

"No, they are,” Sebastian corrected, and jumped down from the top of the machine to help Ciel to his feet again. "But only rarely. There's a second floor, my lord, and a basement."

"A basement?"

Sebastian bounced on the balls of his feet, head cocked as if listening. "Several below-ground floors. How very interesting."

"Well, they're not going to keep their secrets on the surface, are they?" Ciel replied, and together they went hunting for a door.

It took them ten precious minutes to find it, and in that time, Ciel had memorized the top floor and Sebastian had gone through the foreman's desk, to report nothing of consequence.

"How exactly do you cut souls?" Ciel asked, as Sebastian picked the lock on the door. They could break into the factory at large, but the lower floors were better protected, and they wanted to make sure that it took a while for the Zodiac to figure out where they had snooped. Sebastian flicked his dried-blood eyes up at Ciel before returning to the lock, and speaking in a quiet, noncommittal voice.

"Every man or woman—or creature—with the power to cut souls does it differently." The tumbler clicked, but when Sebastian tried the knob, it barely turned. He put his picks back into the lock. "A reaper cuts free a soul every time they collect one, and they have their death scythes to do it. Demons such as myself require a bond with the soul. In fact, most souls can't be cut until the barer of the soul is close to death or dying."

Automatically, Ciel lifted a hand to his eye. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, the way it always did when either of them mentioned the deal. He cleared his throat. "Then the people they bring here—"

"Are caught between death and life, most likely through the compound you saw Cutter injecting into the whore, Mollie." Sebastian's mouth went thin, and finally the door clicked and opened. "On the other hand, none of the men in the Zodiac would have the ability to remove a soul from a human body. It is beyond mankind's abilities. Unless…"

Ciel's mind spun. "Could one of them have a demon servant?"

"No,” Sebastian replied, so quickly that Ciel gave him a funny look. "I would have sensed it."

"All right then, if you say so."

There were no guards on the staircase, which was lit with gaslight. Ciel kept his gun out anyway, straining his ears, wondering at the silence. They couldn't be this sloppy. For such a well-oiled machine as the Zodiac, they wouldn't leave anything of value unguarded like this. Which begged the question: where were all the guards?

He shoved down the nervous jolting in his limbs, the instinct that screamed  _get out of here, now_  and flicked on the basement light.

The first thing he saw was the operating table, washed clean, and the drain in the center of the floor. There was the sharp scent of blood in the hair, overlaid by that burned-spice smell that meant soul-cutting; he sneezed twice, reflexively, as Sebastian followed him down. The second thing he noticed was how cold it was; he could see his breath frosting in front of his face, and even though it was freezing upstairs, that was nothing compared to down here. How were they keeping it so cold?

Sebastian ducked into a nearby room, and came out with a chunk of ice in his hand. It was streaked with blood. He said, "There are spare parts in there."

Ciel looked at the blood-flecked ice, and decided not to ask if the parts were human or not.

The next room was full of instruments. The burned-spice smell was even stronger here; there was a second table, and a set of weapons on a nearby cart. All were wiped clean, but Ciel stared at them, something pounding inside his chest. If he'd been a fanciful sort of person, he might have thought his soul was fluttering anxiously. As he wasn't, he squashed that thought immediately, and checked his watch. Ten minutes until the taxicab left them here. Ciel ground his teeth and wished that Bard hadn't gone missing.

"My lord," Sebastian said from the other room. Ciel went to the wall and studied the tools. They looked like something he would have found in his aunt's medical bag, tweezers and scalpels and strange medical forceps. There were a few he'd never seen before, like the flat silvery weight sitting on the end of the table. He cleared his throat, watching it. "What?"

"There is something in here you'll want to see."

Ciel picked up the weight and slipped it into his pocket before leaving the room.

Sebastian had forced another door; he stood back from it when Ciel joined him, and gestured inside. "I think we've found their use for the whores, my lord." There was a thin metallic smell, like pencil shavings, coming from inside; hung on the wall were strange steel contraptions, many-jointed, long and thin in some places and thick and strong in others. It took him a moment of staring before he realized they were human skeletons, fake human skeletons, and on the table there were glass eyes and long nails and syringes, each in separate boxes. Ciel looked up at Sebastian. "What the  _hell—_ "

Behind them, something snarled, and something tightened in his throat.  _Oh_ , he thought,  _there are the guards,_  and he turned, and shot the first thing he saw moving. The dog—its teeth were shining with sharp metal caps—hit the floor with a whine, legs twitching as blood pooled around its head. For an instant Ciel couldn't comprehend the image in front of him, because there were more dogs, but there were people too, standing, simply watching, and  _their_ teeth had the metal caps too. Suddenly an image of the walking dead of the  _Campania_ flashed through his mind's eye, blood and gore dripping from their lips, their nails tearing through flesh. Ciel held his gun on the nearest one, but didn't shoot. "Sebastian."

"Fascinating,” Sebastian replied, and he vanished from Ciel's side to stand behind one of the nearest men. The man turned, keeping his eyes on Sebastian, but most of them were focused on Ciel; none moved.  _What are they waiting for?_ Sebastian could kill them, Ciel had no doubt of that, but it made no sense for them to just be standing there, watching him, waiting while the dogs tugged at their leashes and snarled. "They possess no souls, my lord."

"What?"

"Their souls have been taken." Sebastian circled. "How absolutely fascinating."

Seven minutes until the taxi left without them. Ciel chanced a step to the side. Nothing in the room moved except him. "I think it would be best if we—"

It was as though some switch inside them had been flipped, someone had shouted a command; three of the men lunged at once, and Ciel managed to shoot one in the face before they reached him. He balled his hand into a fist and punched a second, and he felt one of his fingers break; the clang of metal rang in his ears. Sebastian seized him by the scruff of the neck and wrenched him up out of the pile before those teeth found his leg, and Ciel shouted something unintelligible as they flew through the door and slammed it shut. The handle rattled behind them. Sebastian deposited Ciel on the ground again, obeying the unspoken command, and promptly moved one of the machines to stand in front of the door. Normally Ciel would object—moving machinery that would have taken twenty men to get downstairs in the first place wasn't exactly a subtle note left behind—but his hand was throbbing and he didn't much care. He switched his gun to his left hand—at least he would be able to play the violin when this was over; it was the middle finger on his bowing hand that had been broken—and said, "Five minutes, Sebastian."

Sebastian had barely opened his mouth to reply when another voice, a woman's voice, rang through the chamber. " _Unauthorized_."

She was in a torn shift, with a silver mask over the top half of her face; her red hair hung in ringlets, and her hands were thin and pale, like they were made of bone. Ciel hefted his gun, and held it on her, waiting for her to move; when her thin lips moved, he could see her teeth, and they, too, were capped with sharp silver. " _State your purpose_."

It took the three seconds for Ciel to realize she wasn't breathing for Sebastian to rip her head off.

Electricity snapped and popped as blood sprayed over the ceiling, the walls, across Ciel's face. A mixture of bone and metal gleamed at her neck. The head rolled across the floor, curls dripping with blood, and the mask fell away from her face to reveal pale skin and glass eyes; the woman's lips moved again, her voice ringing out, " _Intruder, intruder—_ " and Ciel wasted no time; he bolted up the stairs, Sebastian right behind him, and they ran and ran and ran.

Even when they were four streets away and back in the cab, he could still hear the woman's voice creeping after him, like an insect, like a curse. Adrenaline was pounding in his veins. Souls. Soul-cutters. Soul stealers. He didn't know how or why, but they took the souls of humans and turned the humans into living weapons, into monsters.

Ciel looked out the window, and wondered if Lizzy was all right. Before he could stop himself, he tapped the top of the taxi.

"Take us to Mayfair," he said, and leaned back in his seat to wipe the blood off his face with a spare handkerchief.

Sebastian, on the other side of the cab, watched him with slitted eyes before taking the handkerchief and tossing it out the window.

* * *

When Bard woke up again, the girl was crouched in the corner, watching him. She was in real clothes now, a proper dress, and shoes; the silver mask was fixed tight over her face, but it was only half a one now, so he could see the curve of her jaw and her mouth and the bottom of her nose. Her hair was pulled back in a complicated design, a wave of silvery-gold. The silver beetle was crawling up her sleeve, clicking like a ticking time bomb. She stroked its back with her gloved fingers, but her eyes never moved from Bard. "You're awake."

"Regrettably." Bard shifted and straightened. His hand didn't hurt so bad as it had before. Less sore. Still swollen. He held it tight against his chest. "What're you doin' down here, little miss? I don't have much to tell you to be honest. All  _I_ did was drive a carriage somewhere."

"I'm here to save you,” she said, in her dull little voice, and for a second Bard thought he'd heard her wrong. He stared at her. Then he laughed.

"Appreciate the thought, little one, but I don't think you can help me much."

The girl lifted the insect and tossed it at the ceiling, where it buzzed up to cling to the trapdoor. If he'd been a curious sort of man, he would have asked how she could touch it without it biting her, but his hand hurt too much for that. He pushed himself to his feet, locking his knees so he wouldn't fall, and the girl looked at him with narrowed eyes. "They're going to kill you tomorrow."

"Not without a fight they won't."

The girl gave him a withering look. "You won't be able to stop the drones. You couldn't when they grabbed you, and those were the first wave, weaker than they should have been. There's no way you'll be able to stop them with your hand like that."

It was the first time she'd shown any emotion. Bard looked at her. "You're a funny little thing."

"I've been told that." She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a curvy glass bottle, shaped like something a woman would carry perfume in. She held it out. "There. That's the antidote to the poison from the Scarab. Take three ounces twice a day until it's gone. Otherwise your hand will start to rot again, and you'll be dead by May."

"What about once I finish it?"

"If your hand worsens, we'll know."

Bard hesitated for a long moment before he reached out, and snatched the bottle. The girl's fingers were frighteningly cold where they brushed his. He tucked it into his pocket, and kept out of her reach as she circled around him, tilted her head back, and hissed something under her breath. The bug crawled up through the trapdoor, and a moment later, there was a click, and part of the wall opened up. He could smell mold and rot through the dark gap.

Bard held his bad hand close against his chest, and looked at the girl. She was crouching by the doorway, her long curly blonde hair dangling into her wary face, and like a crab, she scuttled back, out of reach. "Go."

"Why?"

She bit her lip, and turned away. "Doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

The girl looked at him, and then she pulled the mask off, letting it fall to the floor of the cell. Bard stared at her. There was a patchwork of scars over the right side of her face, lacy like spiderwebs; for the first time, he realized that her left eye was a different color than her right, blue to the right's brown, and that the brown one was made of glass. It didn't move the same way.

"When I was little I fell through a glass window and broke my back,” she said. "My family did everything to help me, but I was dying. Then I came here, and the people here helped me." Her accent was American, Bard realized. No British there at all. He'd been so hazy with the drug he hadn't noticed it before. "That doesn’t mean I always agree with what they do. Killing you is unjust."

"You don't know what I've done in my life, sweetheart. Maybe I deserve to die." He almost felt the rifle barrel in his hands again, smelled the gunpowder. "I've killed a lot of people."

She cocked her head a bit, and then shook her head. "No. You deserve to live. You're a good man."

Before Bard could respond, she'd leapt up to seize the base of the trapdoor. Somehow, she caught the flooring, and dangled a good fifteen feet off the floor where Bard was stuck, gawking. She yanked herself up, turned, and looked down into the pit again, setting her fingers to her lips.

"Close the door behind you. When the boatman stops you, tell him Felicity sent you."

And with that, the trapdoor clanged shut, and all he could do was crawl forward and hoped he would survive the night.

* * *

It was nearly midnight by the time Lizzy and Michael made it back to Mayfair, and Paula was waiting at the back door for them. The maid flung herself into her husband's arms, clinging to him tightly; one of her arms emerged from the tangle and pulled Lizzy into it as well, holding on. "You're both  _late_."

"Sorry,” Lizzy said in a muffled voice.

"And you  _stink_ ,” Paula continued, pulling back and wrinkling her nose. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were blotchy; she was trying not to cry. "There's a bath waiting for you upstairs, Miss Elizabeth. And  _you_ , husband, you wash off before you come inside, I don't know where you've been but you stink of opium."

Lizzy didn't dare ask Paula how she knew what opium smelled like. She retreated upstairs instead, and, meekly, took her bath.

Edward had gone out for the evening, Paula told her, once Lizzy had emerged from the tub an hour later, finally free of the opium smoke. He'd been summoned by a friend of his for something, but he'd asked that Lizzy send him a message to let him know when she returned so he knew she was safe. "I've sent Ivan," Paula said, drying Lizzy's hair with a towel. "He should be back soon. Colleen is downstairs with Cook. Your mother sent a note this evening to let you know she would be back by the day after tomorrow."

Brilliant. They had a deadline for getting Colleen out of the house. Lizzy chewed her lip. "I'll think about it later, Paula. Can you fetch me a pen and the leatherbound book on my desk, please?"

Half an hour later, she was bundled up in the chair in her bedroom, writing down everything she could remember from the party—the names of the Zodiac, how the room had been laid out, details that had seemed ridiculous that might turn out to be important. She mentioned the Chinaman-who-hadn't-been-a-Chinaman that had led her through the house, the smell of opium everywhere, the women she hadn't recognized and the girl called Mollie Ryker, with her pale green glass eyes and dirty blonde hair. Halfway through, Colleen came in and settled in the other chair, watching her write with a sleepy expression. Since Lizzy had started teaching the whore how to defend herself, Colleen had trailed her like a duckling. It was both endearing and aggravating, but at least it meant she knew where Colleen was most of the time. As Colleen drooped down into sleep, Lizzy kept writing. She wrote down Theodore's accusation, the directions to the Kensington house, the decorations, everything she could remember, and she had curled into her chair with a book—there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight, not with everything so fresh in her mind—when the door opened.

His face was streaked with blood, his right hand was swollen, and there was a cut along his jaw that he hadn't noticed. He was scruffy, too, and covered with dirt. Lizzy stared at him, wondered how he'd snuck in. How long he'd been there. What he was doing here. Then she put her book down, and stood. "Ciel—"

Colleen snapped awake, and watched them, her eyes flicking back and forth between them, curled into her chair like an anxious cat. She didn't move. Lizzy glanced back at her, and when Colleen did nothing, she turned back to Ciel. His eyes hadn't left her face. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

He said nothing. He was simply standing there, breathing, watching her, and there was something in his face that bothered her. It wasn't the blood. She'd seen blood before. She'd never seen Ciel like this.

"Where's Sebastian?" she asked, and finally he stirred.

"Downstairs. Kitchen." He cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you."

Lizzy watched him for a moment; then she reached out, and took his elbow, gently, in one hand. Ciel jumped as though she'd branded him. "Come on. Let's go downstairs. Go back to sleep, Colleen."

Colleen said nothing as the door snapped shut behind them.

Ciel followed her meekly back down the stairs. It wasn't until they reached the library that he took her arm, and drew her inside; Lizzy didn't object. If he wanted to talk away from Sebastian, she had absolutely no problem with that. He shut the door behind them, and let out a breath. "You're all right?"

"I should be asking you that." The blood cast a dark shadow over his face. "Ciel, what happened?"

He shook his head. "Later. I…" He frowned at her. "The party went well?"

"The party went strange." She cleared her throat. "There was a woman there, one that Theodore called an automata. She was made of—"

"Metal,” Ciel finished, and for the first time she noticed the strange twist to one of his fingers. "You saw one."

"You saw one?"

"We went to the factory."

"Oh." Lizzy hesitated. Then she reached forward, and this time he didn't flinch when she ran her fingers over his cheek. "Ciel, are you all right? You never—that is, this isn't exactly…you're not yourself."

His good eye searched her face. Finally, something in him relaxed. He reached out, and set his palm against her cheek, and Lizzy froze. Blood rushed into her face. He seemed to be searching for something; she wasn't sure what, but when he found it, he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "You still have it. Thank God."

"What?"

"You still have your soul," he said, and then he pulled her forward and his arms were around her and Lizzy couldn't breathe, because  _Ciel didn't do this_. Ciel didn't hold her this way. She could smell the blood and the gunpowder and the smoke on him, and something else, but he was shaking, and she wondered what in the world he'd seen. Lizzy cautiously hugged him back, ignoring the way her heart was stuttering in her chest, and her hand went up to thread through his hair as he buried his face in her shoulder. He was clinging to her, and all of a sudden, everything clicked together in her mind.

He was scared. He was scared for her. He'd been scared she was dead. He'd been petrified, and that was the only reason—the  _only_ reason—he was doing this now. She felt something in her shatter, and reform, and she kissed his temple.

"I'm all right, Ciel,” she said, and she felt the tears building in the back of her eyes, threading down her cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you, dear. I'm not going to leave you. Not for as long as I live."

His breathing caught. He tightened his arms around her, and she squeezed back.

Elizabeth Middleford stood there, holding the trembling Queen's Watchdog, until dawn broke.


	13. His Fiancée, Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me

Ciel Phantomhive was always in control.

He couldn't afford not to be. Not being in control meant death or severe injury, in his line of work. Not being in control meant exposure, blood, pain, confusion. Not being in control lead to things that he very much wouldn't like to see happen. So he spent a great deal of time making sure he would remain in control. He paid Lau a great deal of money to find a Chinaman who'd be willing to teach martial arts to a young British nobleman; he cultivated hateful relationships with the rest of the world so nobody could shake him.

So the fact that the thought of losing Elizabeth Middleford could reduce him to gibbering terror did more than annoy him.

The fact that the very thought could reduce him to a nameless, wordless fear scared the bloody daylights out of him.

Ciel pushed the bishop back and forth on the chessboard, thinking. When Lau returned from his surveilling of the underground opium business in London, he would have to checkmate the man. He couldn't allow the merchant to win again. It would give Lau ideas. Just like allowing Elizabeth to participate in this investigation any longer would give  _her_ ideas. Short of killing her, however, there was no real way to get her out of it; he had no other inside source, not for a group as closely linked as the Zodiac. All of Sebastian's subtle prying had been duly thwarted; not even the lowliest coal-boy would talk to them. There was no way he could infiltrate them himself, either—they all knew his face, he was certain of it.

He turned the chessboard and stared at it. If he moved his rook three spaces to the left, he would put Lau's king in check. But then Lau's knight could take his only rook, and he couldn't afford that.

They would have moved the automata manufacturing tables by now. The smooth silver half-sphere rested on the center of his desk, along with the book Elizabeth had stolen from Beddor's library; he was no closer to figuring out how to read it, though the mechanical arms gave him a clue as to what it could be.  _A how-to manual_. He assumed Beddor had not yet noticed its absence; if he had, an alarm would have been raised against Elizabeth long ago. But Beddor was not involved with the technical side of things, only the opium.  _A drug to steal the senses, to mold a human mind and soul into something to be sheared._  So not just a money-maker, after all.

Sebastian still hadn't told him anything of value when it concerned the soul-cutting, and despite the fact that he doubted it was really necessary information, it was putting Ciel in a pique of sorts.  _If I move the bishop, he'll take my queen._  He was curious, though. He supposed he couldn't help it. In the same way Faust had been curious enough to summon Mephistopheles, the same way Pandora had been too intrigued to leave the gods-given box well enough alone, the same way Eve had craved the apple, Ciel wanted to know the secrets of human souls, but his demon was not willing to give them to him.

 _Remember how they ended up, Phantomhive, and think about keeping up your curiosity_.

He had so many pretty problems. The soul-cutting, for one. Elizabeth, for another. Ciel picked up Lau's knight and turned it over and over in his fingers, the white marble leeching the color from his skin. She had already proved to be remarkably stubborn when it came to him simply ordering her about. She was too independent. Sometimes he admired it. Sometimes it frustrated him so much that the world turned to shades of red. Stubborn almost to the point of stupidity. She didn't have the sort of spirit that could be easily broken.

Neither did he. He clenched the knight in his fist. His right hand was throbbing against his side, the broken finger set but sore. He could be just as stubborn as Elizabeth Middleford.

What Lizzy didn't have, however, was slyness. She didn't have the backhanded sort of mind that let her be a natural at this business; she charged ahead, all guns bared, and despite her newfound talent for lying, if one knew her well enough, she was an open book.  _Too open. Too kind. Too big-hearted._  The sort of ruining she would find in this work wasn't the sort that society found reprehensible—at least, not by noblewomens' standards—but if she kept going down this way, she would no longer be herself. She would no longer be bright. She would no longer be able to smile or laugh the same way. She would no longer be  _Elizabeth_.

A soft knock at the door. Ciel lifted his head as Sebastian poked his in, his eyes creasing in his secret smile. "My lord, Bard has returned."

"Send him in,” Ciel replied, and waited until the door shut.

Even with her usefulness, Lizzy was a risk. She'd always been a risk. He'd been too young, at twelve, to send her away the way he should have; he'd been too soft on her and she'd grown used to it. He'd grown used to her being there, grown used to her being his escape, and as much as he disliked the idea of destroying her, he needed to. To keep her safe. To keep himself in control. She was too witty, too vibrant, too  _bright_ —a distraction from his work, something that he couldn't afford to protect.

He could remember his father, many years ago, kneeling down beside him when his mother had been away and talking to him about duty. Honor. Strength. The Phantomhive's duty was his honor; his loyalty to the Queen was his strength. He talked about other things too, but it had been Sebastian who had brought up the most obvious.

 _Use an enemy's weakness against him_. Elizabeth's weakness was her soft, soft heart. Ciel opened his palm and stared at the white knight. He'd clutched it so hard there was a red outline of the chess piece on his palm.

In order to keep her safe, he was going to have to destroy the only thing that kept him sane.

He set the knight down, and then in a sudden striking move, shifted his pawn forward and blocked off Lau's only escape.

In order to get her out of this, Ciel was going to have to break Elizabeth's heart.

* * *

It was Whittacker who brought her the note.

Lizzy was in the sitting room with her mother and brother (her father was finally on his way back from Buckingham Palace) when the door opened, and Whittacker offered her the tray with the envelope on it. She hadn't yet asked her mother to consider firing Whittacker, especially because to her mother, Colleen was Paula's cousin from Ireland and thus not someone Whittacker would ever mistreat. (Soon they would be sending Colleen out to Bath, where Paula's mother would take her in. They hoped.) To reveal Whittacker's behavior was to reveal who Colleen actually was, and no matter how fair-minded her mother was, there was no way Frances Middleford would ever tolerate a whore in her household.

She had no knife to slit the envelope open, she remembered. Lizzy had to shake the note to the other end of the envelope before tearing the edge off. It tore funny, too; one half was ripped more than the other, so that the whole edge was uneven. She'd never been good at tearing things.

It was Ciel's handwriting. The note was short and crisp.

_Dear Cousin Elizabeth._

That should have been her first clue. She'd never in her life heard him call her  _Cousin_  Elizabeth. Still she kept reading, and a few phrases leapt out at her.  _Inept bungling. Ruined expectations. Disappointment in your behavior. Breaking the engagement._

The paper slipped through her fingers and hit the floor. Something had stabbed her in the chest. When she looked down, she was surprised not to see a sword through her ribs.

_Breaking the engagement._

"Elizabeth, dear, you're dead white,” Mama said. Elizabeth opened her mouth. She couldn't speak. Her throat was too dry; she could find no words. "What's happened? What news?"

She couldn't breathe. The world spun dizzily around her. Elizabeth stood, clenched her fingers in her skirt, and walked, stiffly, out of the room. She heard Edward's cry of anger, Mama's shocked exclamation from behind her, but she did not stop; she walked down the stairs, out of the house, onto the streets of Mayfair, straight to the Phantomhive house, only to find the windows drawn, the door locked, and, when she broke in, the house empty.

_Breaking the engagement._

She stood in the middle of the entryway for a long time before she finally broke, and sank to her knees on the Persian carpet. She felt numb. Shock? What was that? There was nothing else to describe this feeling but utter numbness; even the pain in her chest was gone now, or perhaps it was so strong she could no longer feel it, but it was all she could do to sit sprawled on the carpet, her hands held tight together in front of her, and inhale the scent of the house.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford, and until today, I was engaged._

She still had the ring on her left hand. She'd started wearing it in France. She pulled it off, and stared at it for a moment. Then she settled it, gently, on the hall table. She could barely reach up high enough to put it there. It was too far away; she had to lean. Once it was done, she sat there looking at it, the glint of diamond and sapphire.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford, and until today, I was to be the wife of the Queen's Watchdog._

_The investigation_ , the still conscious part of her mind told her, but the numbness took that soon enough.  _Bungler_ , the note had read.  _Bungler._  She must have done something, made some mistake. She didn't know what, but she must have.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford, and now, I am single._

She didn't know how to be single. She'd never learned. She'd never  _been_ single, not really. Always engaged. Her hands were shaking, she realized, and she stretched them out in front of her to watch them.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford, and now, in the eyes of society, I am a freak of nature._

Because now her fate was the same of every other woman of her class—she needed a man. And what sane nobleman was going to take her now?

Edward found her there an hour later, and walked her back to their own house before people started to talk. She let him. She could not speak. She could not find even the emotion to cry. Mama, uncharacteristically gentle, said something to Edward over her head and then took her upstairs. She curled into her parents' bed, which she had not touched since she was eight years old, and she inhaled the familiar scent of it, but it wasn't the one she wanted. She lay there, listening to the soft voices, because it was all she could do.

She was numb. Not just numb, but Numb. Not even Paula sitting beside her, stroking her hair, could pull her out of it. The shock had Numbed her to the core.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford, and I have nothing._

* * *

For the first time ever, her father was angrier than her mother about something.

He'd gone to the Phantomhive estate, she thought. "Didn't even let me through the  _door_!" he shouted, and threw something at the wall downstairs. She flinched when she heard the shattering of breaking glass. "The little bastard should—"

Abrupt silence. The creak of the stairs. She could hear murmuring coming from her parents' room. Lizzy curled up into her chair, staring blankly at the book on her lap. Shelley's Collected Works. In the corner, Paula was sewing—she hadn't been left alone in days. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "For, be it joy or sorrow, the path of its departure still is free: man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow, nought may endure but mutability."

"Miss?" Paula looked up from her project. "Did you say something?"

Elizabeth shook her head, silently, and reached for another book.

She'd never read  _Faust_  before. German authors had always had the tendency to depress her. She flipped aimlessly through the pages. It was a black book, she realized, like the book she'd seen Ciel reading all those weeks ago, when she'd first come back from her trip with her father. Her throat closed up and her words disappeared.  _What am I without my engagement?_ It had been part of her being. It had been part of her world for so long, her sole goal for so long, she had no idea what to do without it. She wondered if that hurt more than anything else—this careless ripping-away of everything she'd been striving to do.  _An edge, an edge, remember your edge_ , but what was the point of having an edge if she wasn't going to need to use it? What was the point of having an edge when the person she'd been working towards for so long no longer wanted her?

She let the book spill open on her lap. Scene Eighteen: Gretchen's Room.  _My heart's so heavy, my heart's so sore; how can ever my heart be at peace anymore?_  Was it her heart that hurt? It didn't feel that shallow. It felt like she'd been ripped apart, like the envelope that lay in pieces in the bottom of her desk drawer.

How did one deal with one's entire life—not just her love for Ciel, but her cause, her meaning, what she was supposed to  _be_ at the end of it all—being torn away and stomped on?

Another spurt of noise from down the hall. Elizabeth sat there and stared at the fire, lost in thought.  _What do I do now?_  What could she do now? She could run away, she supposed, but she would hate herself for the rest of her life if she did that. She could confront Ciel, but she was nowhere close to being fierce. The Numbness still had her in its control. Days had slipped by without her noticing already; who knew how long it would be? No, facing Ciel was pointless anyway; she knew him too well. He would not change his mind.

 _Nought may endure but Mutability_. Shelley whispered at her, and she fought the urge to throw  _Faust_  into the fire. If this  _was_ the book Ciel had been reading, she wanted nothing to do with it. She closed it and set it on the floor, kicking it lightly under her chair. Out of sight, out of mind.

… _like licorice burning in the earth…_

She still had not visited Aunt Anne's grave. Elizabeth stood, sharply. "I'm going out."

"Miss Lizzy—"

She didn't need kindness, not now. She needed answers. She shut the door in Paula's face.

Colleen, of all people, was the one who finally chased her down. She supposed it was natural—the whore had been soaking everything up like a sponge, all the techniques Elizabeth and Edward had discussed, and despite the fact she'd only been training for a few days, she was stronger than she looked and smarter than she seemed. She caught up with Elizabeth three blocks away—because Elizabeth had not brought money for a cab, and because the church was a close enough walk anyway—and fell into step with her. She said nothing. She would, eventually—they all had—but for now, she kept her mouth shut.

At this time of night—nearly nine—most of the sellers were off the streets, but there was one old woman in front of the graveyard who was still selling flowers. Elizabeth used a halfpenny she found in the depths of her coat pocket to buy a rose. She would have bought a carnation, but there were none left. At least it was red. Colleen was silent, trailing her like a shadow, as Elizabeth wound her way through the graves. Aunt Anne's was simple and mostly unadorned.  _Angelina Durless-Barnett._ Elizabeth knelt and laid the rose on the frosty grass. Colleen stood behind her.

"Who was she?"

This, at least, was a question she could answer. "My aunt."

Colleen's forehead wrinkled. "Ain't a rose— _isn't_ a rose kind of…well, uncharitable-like?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Aunt Anne—everyone called her Madame Red. She would appreciate it."

"Oh."

Pause. "She was a doctor." Her voice shook a little bit. "Not in a fancy hospital, but one down in the East End. She helped people. She was…she was amazing. She was her own woman. She was independent. She needed nothing and no one, but she  _loved_." She couldn't breathe for a moment. Elizabeth steadied herself against the gravestone. "When I was a child, I wished with all my heart that I could be just like her."

There was a long silence. Then Colleen cleared her throat. "I heard o'her." She coughed, awkwardly. "She…she did some work for Mollie, one time." She scuffed her shoe along the ground. "When…Mollie was with child, y'know."

An abortion.  _Such a small world it is_ , she thought, and stood again. "She couldn't have any children of her own. Aunt Anne. I suppose it's why she loved us so much."

"Us?"

"Me." Her chest tightened. "And Ciel."

It wasn't at all like in the books. She could speak his name. She would probably even be able to look at him. But  _she_ wouldn't be looking at him, because for now, Lizzy Middleford, fiancée, warrior, bright and beautiful, stubborn as anything, was gone somewhere deep inside, and all that was left was Elizabeth. She knew Lizzy Middleford as well as her own reflection. She wasn't quite sure who Elizabeth was.

She would have stayed longer to speak to the grave, but Colleen was looking at her funny, so she wiped her hands clean on her cloak. "We should go back."

"We should,” Colleen agreed, and cocked her head, a birdlike motion. "But d'you want to?"

Elizabeth froze. Then she shook her head slowly. "God, no."

Colleen rubbed her hands together and blew on them, and Elizabeth realized with a start that the whore wasn't wearing any gloves. Then she grinned at her, and it was the first real smile Elizabeth had ever seen on Colleen's face. She offered her hand. "C'mon then. Let's go explorin'."

Elizabeth looked at the hand for a long moment before looking at Colleen again. The blue eyes sent a bit of a shock through her—brighter, more electric than Ciel's, but with that same shadow, that same pain nonetheless. It was the first real feeling she'd had in days. She hesitated no longer. Elizabeth reached forward and took Colleen's hand.

Mayfair was quiet, except for carriages rattling down the street. Colleen cut through an alley. Elizabeth held her hand tightly, not sure where they were going—for all her looking at maps of London, it was different when one was actually wandering about. They cut through back alleys and through holes in walls; she tore her skirt going over a fence, and was never more relieved that she'd refused a corset this morning, because by God, if she'd done all this walking with that thing trapping her ribs and lungs she would have fainted long ago. The smell of the streets grew progressively more sour, the people grew rattier, and she held her cloak tight about herself. Colleen didn't walk, she  _swaggered_  as though she owned the world, and people left them alone.

They didn't go back to Colleen's whorehouse, because she rather thought Colleen would kill rather than end up there again. They went to a pub. Nobody noticed them going in, and nobody noticed that Colleen paid with stolen money, either; she borrowed Elizabeth's knife and cut the purse of the nearest looking rich man on the block before coming back inside and paying for two bowls of stew with unmentionable meats inside, and two mugs of beer. Elizabeth had never tasted beer before. It was as sour as lower London on her tongue.

"I know Mol's dead,” Colleen said, the first time she had spoken in hours. In the back of her mind, Elizabeth knew that her parents would be frantic by now, but the Numbness still had her. She couldn't bring herself to care. "In here." Colleen hit her chest hard with one hand, and to Elizabeth's shock, her eyes were overbright in the light from the candles. "I know she's dead. You and him, you would've found her by now if she weren't."

Mol. Mollie. "Mollie Ryker,” Elizabeth breathed, as the girl with the long dirty blonde hair and the glass eyes flickered in her mind. "Oh, Colleen."

"Don't say it like that,” Colleen snapped. "People die every day, little princess. It don't matter how, don't even matter why. All that matters is who killed 'em."

 _Theodore Parker_.  _Vladimir Petrovsky. Ryou Shirakawa. The Zodiac._ The names burned on her lips. Elizabeth swallowed them back, and took another sip of her drink. It really was disgusting. Colleen was already on gin, and she took a swallow of her glass and set it down quite deliberately, with the smallest of noises. "The other girls, they're dead too, aren't they? All the ones Cutter took a shine to."

There was no point in lying to her. "Yes," said Elizabeth, and emptied her drink. Colleen gave her an appraising look, and then poured some of the gin into her cup.

"You need that to wake up, princess. You've been asleep for days now. Can't be good for you."

Colleen's grammar had been progressively improving with every conversation Elizabeth had had with the girl. It was either a lot of practice or extreme parroting skills. She wasn't sure she cared. The gin burned as it went down, and Elizabeth felt her eyes water as she hacked. Colleen laughed. "Virgin drinker, eh? Wouldn't be too surprised if you're a virgin all the way through, little princess."

Color flooded her cheeks. "You—"

"None of my business. Right." Colleen swallowed more gin. "Doesn't mean it's not hilarious."

Elizabeth flushed so hot that her whole collarbone felt like it was about to catch fire. Thankfully, it was nearly impossible for anyone to tell with the lighting the way it was. Colleen knocked the last of her drink, and then smacked the cup onto the table. She leaned forward. "All those people in the big house, they've been tiptoin' around you like you're the first mollisher who ever was ditched by a man. It's nasty. Y'don't fall in love if you're a woman, princess, it's bad for ya. Men, their racket's easy enough t'understand anyway. Dab you then leave you, yeah? At least with a lot of us down here, we get paid for it."

Her ears were burning. Elizabeth swallowed more gin. That burned worse. "He didn't—"

"Didn't have to." Colleen waved this away. "Dunno, don't care, rather not know anyway."

"But—"

"You said to me that we're the same,” Colleen said. "All of us who get caught up in the games of the Watchdog, we're all the same. But you said you knew how to play."

For the first time since the letter, she hurt. Elizabeth knocked over her glass, and the gin spilled onto the floor, spattering her shoes. No one noticed. She hung her head as blood pounded in her ears. "I guess I didn't."

"I think you do,” Colleen said, and she reached across the table and she took Elizabeth's hand, squeezing it so hard the bones shifted. "I think you do and he just made you forget. I think you do and you can again. I think you need to."

Elizabeth looked at Colleen. She wet her lips. Coughed. Tried to speak, failed. Tried again. "Why? It won't matter. It won't change his mind."

Colleen scoffed, and dug her nails into Elizabeth's arm. "Not for him, you glocky haybag. For Mollie. For the Sparrow. For Rosie. For every woman Cutter ever took and every woman that the others ever stole. For everyone they ever raped and murdered. For the dead ones. For everyone those bastards ever hurt." Colleen's eyes burned in her face like blue lanterns. "For  _us._ And if that means goin' 'gainst your precious Watchdog, teamin' up with the Jacks or workin' on your own, then you fecking  _do it_ , you downy flash toff, because  _I know you can._ "

Elizabeth looked at her. The Numbness crashed over her, but so did something else; it burned as it did, like the gin in her throat, but it was all through her limbs. She was prickling all over. She could see Ciel in the back of her mind, but she could also see Theodore Parker and Mollie Ryker, standing there with glass eyes and no expression. Emptier than Elizabeth's glass.

She was empty, too, she realized. Ciel had ripped her apart, taken everything out. Everything that made up Lizzy Middleford had been for Ciel, and he'd stolen it. Broken it. Tossed it away. She was an empty vessel, and _that_ was the Numbness; under it was heartbreak and confusion and fear, but the Numbness that had her, that was the empty vessel.

 _When I was a child, I wished with all my heart that I could be just like her._ Like Aunt Anne, like Angelina Durless-Barnett, who had carved her life out of the limestone of High Society and done what she damn well pleased.

She was Numb, but Colleen's eyes were sending speckles of something through her. Some emotion. She didn't know what or why, but she was burning. Like Lord Byron's phoenix, she was burning.  _Though burned by wicked Bedford for a witch, behold her statue plac'd in glory's niche; her fetters burst, and just releas'd from prison, a virgin phoenix from her ashes risen._

She turned her hand over and seized Colleen's wrist, and they sat there together, staring at each other.

"All right," she said, and shook hands with the whore. "Together."

"Together," Colleen said, and poured them a toast.

This time, when the alcohol burned her, she let it. At least she could feel this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian slang:
> 
> Mollisher - a woman, often a villain's mistress  
> Racket - deal, illicit occupation, tricks  
> Dab - to sleep with  
> Glocky haybag - half-witted female  
> Jacks - police detectives  
> Downy - cunning  
> Flashy - smart, something special  
> Toff - elegantly dressed gentleman (can also be used to describe upper-class people)


	14. His Cousin, Plotting

It took three weeks for the scandal to die down. It would have taken longer, if Ciel hadn't vanished from London society, the way he was prone to do every few months. Elizabeth refused to wear her mourning dresses, despite Paula's recommendation. It wasn't as though she had any deaths in the family. She'd just lost a fiancé. She wasn't grieving, after all.

Three days after the news broke over the society pages and people had started to whisper at her in the street , she went to Nina, and had a new wardrobe made. There were none of the childish frills she'd worn for all those years in her new gowns. "Like Odile," was Elizabeth's only stipulation, and Nina, grumbling good-naturedly, went to town. She wore bright colors that didn't clash with her blonde hair, greens and reds and whites, and she wore dark colors that brought out her eyes, dark blues and purples.

There was no black in her wardrobe except for that Odile dress she'd worn at Rebecca Beddor's costume party. She left it there, along with the mask, and let it sit in the back of her dresser, where sometimes when she had a moment to herself she sat and looked at it.

"I don't know how to be me,” she told Edward one day, as she lay panting on the floor of the fencing room and he wiped down his foil. He paused, cloth held still against the tip of the blade, and looked at her. "Without the engagement. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know how to be me."

He went back to cleaning the blade. "Then find out."                                                                         

She considered this. "I don't know how."

"Then learn who you aren't, little sister. You'll uncover who you are soon enough."

Edward didn't like leaving her alone when she went out. She found herself a new blonde shadow to go with Paula, and sometimes Colleen, who was perfecting her "posh toff accent" and now could sound about as noble as Elizabeth if she cared to try. She had flat-out refused to stay with Paula's family; she stayed with Nina instead, and Elizabeth snuck out of the house every afternoon to teach her—and Nina too, eventually—ways to defend herself. Mama only protested once, trying to stop her from leaving the house. Papa said nothing, only took her mother's arm and drew her away before nodding Elizabeth out the door. That night, when she came back, Elizabeth stopped off in her father's study, knelt by his chair, and rested her head on his knee for the first time since she'd been twelve years old. He stroked her hair, and if she cried a little bit, he said nothing about it.

Every night she wrote in the notebook she used to keep track of it all. She used different languages, the few she knew from childhood—Italian and French—and the ones she'd begged her father to teach her. The people he'd hired in that year to teach her languages had left her with words and worlds spinning in her head. Spanish was easy for her after Italian and French. She'd never been able to get a hold on Chinese—the only things she could remember were how to say hello and a few proverbs that her teacher had never stopped quoting at her—but she could write the characters well enough, especially with help from her father's dictionaries. She used that mainly for names. Ciel was  _bumblebee,_ or  _xióngfēng_. Thinking of Theodore's hat, she picked  _niúzăi_ for him: cowboy. Sebastian's was harder. Eventually, she picked the simplest one she could think of.  _Shénmì_. Mystery.

She wrote her thoughts in trashy Italian, her observations in Spanish slang, names in Chinese, and theories in a French code that she begged her father to teach her two days after Colleen dragged her out to the pub. When she gave it to Edward to look at, wondering if he'd be able to pick out a word in ten, he shook his head and gave it back to her and said, "If you want my help breaking Phantomhive's head open, Liz, go ahead and call me, but keep your puzzles to yourself."

Ciel had the box she'd snitched from Beddor's library. He also had the book of mechanical drawings. She wasn't about to go and take them from him, not now, not when everything was still so raw. Besides, there were the eyes of society to think about now—the Old Ladies, who saw everything and gossiped about more. If any of them caught wind of the fact that Elizabeth had been to see her ex-fiancé, then the fur would definitely fly. Besides, she had no intention of seeing Ciel anyway.  _Baby steps_. Though in this case, the steps were less infantile than miniscule. And, for now, nonexistent.

She wanted to know what was in the box, though. Desperately. Sometimes she thought about it and curled into her pillow, crushing it tight against her chest at the buzz of curiosity breaking through the numbness. Feelings through the Numbness were new and exotic. She wasn't sure she liked them.

Theodore and the Zodiac at large left her be, but she went to visit Rebecca as often as she could. She wouldn't be married for a few years longer, but her face was growing pinched and pale. Elizabeth knew if—when—Rebecca found out her role in exposing the Zodiac for what they were (because it would come out eventually) she would no longer have this girl as a friend. The only way Rebecca would be able to escape the scandal of it all would be if she married the faraway Mr. Yates before it all came out, and she was too young to do that.

If Rebecca noticed any changes in her, she didn't mention them. Elizabeth spent less time pumping the girl for information than she should have. She realized halfway through the second visit since the broken engagement that she didn't want this girl to remember her solely as a traitor. She wanted Rebecca to remember her—even for a short while—as a friend.

So she waited in the center of a web, went over everything she'd learned herself and everything Ciel had accidentally told her. Once she went back to the coffee shop Ciel had taken her and Paula to all those weeks ago, and the waiter let her into the back room without a word. The maps were still there. She stole them, and left one of the faux roses that had been stuck into her hat in its place. The stolen map with all its purple pins was stuck against the wall in the place of honor over her desk. When the guilt, sudden and sharp, pierced her, she went over everything in her notebook all over again.

 _Not for him, you glocky haybag. For Mollie. For the Sparrow. For Rosie. For every woman Cutter ever took and every woman that the others ever stole. For everyone they ever raped and murdered. For the dead ones. For everyone those bastards ever hurt_.

March was gone in a blink. It was the beginning of April when invitations that didn't stink of cloying pity began to fly through the letterbox again. The Old Ladies had caught on to the fact that the daughter of the Marquis Middleford was finally single. She politely but firmly rejected most of them. For the events she did attend—garden parties, operas, birthdays—she kept to herself and flirted her fan in front of her face most of the time. When someone asked her to dance, though, she did. She liked dancing. That wasn't something she'd created for Ciel.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford. I am the daughter of the Marquis Alexis Leon Middleford and Frances Phantomhive-Middleford, the sister of Edward Middleford. I am single. I can speak in tongues, write in codes, and manipulate poisons. I like to ride and to dance and to go to the theatre. I am going to destroy the Zodiac if it is the last thing I do._

A short list, she thought, but short wasn't necessarily bad.

It was at a dance in the Fotheringhay house when Theodore Parker finally caught her eye from across the room, and Elizabeth flicked her fan over face, glad that she'd convinced Colleen to leave the fancy dress parties to her. She doubted Colleen and Theodore—or the rest of the Zodiac, if she was being honest—would recognize each other, but she wasn't sure Colleen would be able to hold her temper if she was face to face with one of the members.

She kept him at bay for a while by dancing with one of the Fotheringhay cousins, a spectacled boy maybe her age, who, she was quite certain, would be altogether much more comfortable curled into a library reading than being pushed at eligible women by his maiden aunt. He wasn't a bad dancer—he didn't step on her toes once, and his movements had some level of grace, unlike most of the men here—but he was a wretched conversationalist. She sent him Rebecca's way—he would most likely be much more comfortable with a girl like Rebecca, and Rebecca could do much worse than Stephen Fotheringhay—and left the dance floor to find Theodore waiting by the bowl of punch.

"Do I know you?" she asked, and he winced.

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. It's been tough the last few weeks. For both of us, I hear."

"What you  _hear_ and what you  _know_ are very different things." How odd. She should hate Theodore Parker. She should hate him with every bone in her body, a searing melting hate that scored her very soul. Instead, the barest emotion she could summon was indifference. Elizabeth put on her flirtatious face and added, "In general, I find men to be quite wretched creatures at the moment."

"All men?"

"Almost all."

He bowed, and offered her his arm. "Then I suppose it's my God-given duty to make up for the rest of my sex, don't you think?"

So assured of himself. So settled in the idea that she would heel like a trained dog. Elizabeth smiled, and tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. "We'll see."

It was the quadrille, and Elizabeth trailed out into the center of the ballroom with Theodore Parker as three other couples did the same, the only ones daring enough to take the stage. She curtsied to Theodore, and then to the couple to her right, one of the many Crowleys with a girl who must have been his sister, before she turned back and slotted her hand into Theodore's. The Crowley couple and another pair—an older gentleman and his wife, who she had seen once or twice at these dances but had never been introduced to—crossed to greet each other, and Theodore bent down to whisper in her ear. "I hope you weren't terribly frightened by what you saw at the little fete a few weeks ago, Elizabeth."

"Not at all,” she said, and then hesitated. "Well, maybe a little bit. It's a very new idea you're working with, Theodore."

"Of course it is. It's the only way to come up with progress." The Crowley couple and the familiar old ones stepped back into their places. Elizabeth walked forward, and took the hand of the man opposite her, a soldier who was, in his own way, quite attractive, with dark hair and eyes. She passed him, squeezing his hand as she went, and took Theodore's again. "I'm not surprised though. You are a woman of considerable strength of character, Miss Middleford."

"If you're trying to flatter me it's not going to work. I'm not entirely pleased with you,  _Mr._ Parker." Back to the old soldier, spinning, and then arm in arm with Theodore as they walked the circle, nodding to the other couples. Her palms were damp and sweaty in her gloves. "One wonders where one stands with a gentlemen when he invites one to a party such as that and then sends no word or even a card for three and a half weeks."

Theodore winced again. "This is where I apologize, isn't it?"

She smiled, spun, and then faced him again, going through the steps, hand clenched tight in her midnight-blue gown. "This is where you _grovel_ , Mr. Parker."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Would you like me to get down on bended knee in the middle of the dance floor? Though you'll be the one to get the old hens to shut up afterwards. Looks too much like a proposal."

"You'll deal with your own problems." She sniffed. Back into the circle, and then hand in hand with the Crowley boy, heading into the circle and bowing. She met up with the old gentleman next, and then her hand returned to Theodore's. "Now grovel."

"Consider me groveling." Something in his eyes sparked when he looked at her. Blood pounded agreeably in her brain as her skin prickled. For all of his faults, and there were many, Theodore Parker was undeniably attractive. His eyes were almost emerald in the light from the gas lamps. "There was a break-in at one of our factories. Everything had to be moved."

She nearly lost her step. In, around, and then passing Theodore to hold her hand out to the center of the circle, and the old soldier's wife was stepping on her toes as she and the other women walked in a full circle before reversing directions and returning to their partners. "A break-in? I hope I'm not suspected."

"Impossible,” he replied. "You were with me at the time."

"Oh." Then that would make it the night that Ciel had crashed into her room, trembling, his eye wide with fear, his mouth creased with relief.  _You still have it. Thank God. You still have your soul._

She pushed the memory away before it went any further. "It took longer than we expected to shift everything to a secure location. Which you are  _not_ learning from me, so don't ask."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Curtsy and then a few jumps to the left, and she was twirling with the old man, and then the soldier, and then the Crowley boy. Then Theodore again as other couples galloped through the circle. Elizabeth put a hand to her chest and breathed for a moment. "Oh, my."

"You're not coming down with the vapors, are you? I expected more of you."

 _You wear this corset and gallop around like a maniac and stay on your feet_. It was on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back and forced a smile. "No, I'm fine. I can finish. I suppose you didn't come all the way across the ballroom just to beg for my forgiveness."

"That's not enough?" he said, and to her surprise, he sounded almost teasing. Elizabeth pursed her lips, and looked at him. "I guess not. Actually, I'm escorting somebody special 'round town. You should meet her."

"Should I be afraid for myself?"

"That depends if you want a place with me or not,” he said lightly, but his eyes were burning into hers. "Which, of course, considering your recent engagement, ain't exactly practical or proper."

She smiled at him, ignoring the surge of sickness in her stomach. "Since when have I done anything proper, Theodore Parker?"

"Touché." The dance ended. Elizabeth curtsied to the other dancers, and then to Theodore, and they walked arm in arm away from the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth spotted her brother watching them, and wondered if she ought to say something to keep Edward from throttling her target. "Wait here? I'll go find her."

"I can't promise anything,” she said, and watched as he vanished into the crowd. Rebecca stood nearby, her governess hovering over her shoulder; she was speaking to the soldier from the quadrille, her eyes fixed on the floor. Elizabeth jerked her head at Edward, and pointed at Rebecca, mouthing,  _Rescue her._

Her brother made a sour face in her direction, but cut in anyway. As they passed Elizabeth, he gave her a sharp look, one that said  _you owe me_  and  _I want an explanation_  and  _be careful you idiot_  all at once. Elizabeth nodded, and then retreated to one of the empty couches. One of the Fotheringhay cousins—not Stephen—leapt to collect some punch for her. It was refreshing, being single. The boys were always so eager to do things for her.

"Why, it's little Lizzy Middleford." She knew that voice, soft and smooth and teasing. She looked up, and the Chinaman looked back at her, a quiet smile quirking his lips. A buxom woman stood next to him, in a makeshift dress that exposed more than it hid. "My dear, you've grown up so very well."

Elizabeth clenched her fingers into the fabric of her skirt as she stared at him, struck momentarily speechless. Lau tilted his head at her. "We were introduced once, several years ago, but perhaps you don't remember me. My name is—"

"Lau,” she said. Elizabeth stood, and bowed to him. " _Hao jiu bu jian le_."

"It has indeed." He gave her an appraising look, and then said something in Chinese—she could only pick one word out of every trio.  _How, Chinese, delight._  Lau stopped just as abruptly, and his eyes creased in a small smile. "Your pronunciation is adequate for a beginner."

"Considering how difficult Chinese pronunciation is, I'll take that as a compliment,” she replied. "This sort of affair isn't your typical haunt, is it?"

"You would be correct." Lau sprawled onto the couch and pulled the silent Chinese woman into his lap, sighing dramatically. Elizabeth took the other end and watched him, her hands twisting together, tightly. "I would much rather be at home with my girls, wouldn't I, Ran-Mao? But alas, I am here on business. It's wretched."

"I see."

"Do you really?" he said, and his mouth quirked at her. "How fascinating. Are you here on business too, little Lizzy Middleford? Your fiancé won't be pleased."

" _Shì shàng wú nán shì zhĭ pà yŏu xīn rén."_

Lau groaned, and waved that away. "Oh, don't lecture me now, please. I'll leave Ciel alone."

"I don't care about Ciel."  _Lie, lie, lie_ , it beat at her like her heart, but she ignored it. "I was wondering if I could ask you something."

Lau looked at her. "Must you?"

"Why do you work for Ciel?"

He hissed a bit. Nobody was paying attention—the only person who would have been interested, Theodore, was still across the room, talking to a group of people. Elizabeth waited as Lau looked first at her, then at Ran-Mao, and absently he began to tug at one of the bells that dangled from Ran-Mao's hair. It tinkled lightly, like a child's toy. "I enjoy things that interest me."

"What interests you?"

"Interesting things." He shifted. "For instance, you quizzing me interests me a great deal, little Lizzy Middleford."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?" He pouted. "It suits you. You're still so small, you and Ciel both. Angel always thought that you were too young for all of this."

Elizabeth frowned. "Angel?"

"Who am I talking about, dear?" He tugged at Ran-Mao's bell again, and she sniffed at him. She didn't speak. "Oh, of course. She was in love, you see, my Angel. She hated and loved, all at once. She was in love with crimson red."

Her insides froze. Elizabeth stared blankly at him. "You knew my aunt?"

"Is there any curry here?" Lau asked, and waved a hand at one of the footmen. "I have a powerful craving for curry."

"How did you know my aunt?"

"Oh, any number of ways in any number of places. Up and down and all around, isn't that right, Ran-Mao?" He tinkled the bell. "Of course, it was all a game, the way it always is with Phantomhives."

"Aunt Anne wasn't a Phantomhive."

Lau waved this away. "One doesn't  _become_ a Phantomhive, my dear. It's not a birth thing. One is  _made_ into a Phantomhive."

Her throat felt very dry. Elizabeth swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

"It's not what I mean, but what it means to  _you_ , Elizabeth, I thought you knew that." Lau pushed Ran-Mao off him, and stood. Elizabeth tried to copy him, but her knees were shaking too much. She couldn't. "It was lovely to talk with you, dear."

"Lau!"

"Hm?"

She fought for words. "You're helping Ciel with his investigation. Aren't you?"

"It was a brilliant blue sky today, did you notice?" Lau said, and set his hand in the small of Ran-Mao's back. "We should have gone for a walk. It would have been wonderful."

"Have you found anything out?"

"What are we talking about? I'm afraid I can't remember."

"Please,” she said, and he turned and looked at her, his eyes widening just the slightest bit. "Please. They're killing people.  _Please._ "

"Who is dying is of no concern to me,” Lau said.

"It would be if I were a Phantomhive." His lips tightened. "You're helping Ciel. I'm trying to solve this too. Please. I need your help."

"Help is an illusion."

"I'll owe you,” she said, and it slipped out of her in desperation, but it drove him to a screeching halt. Lau turned and looked at her, and for the first time she thought she saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted into a real smile.

"You'll find favors from me aren't cheap, little Lizzy Middleford. You may not like my request."

"I'll do it,” she said, and then added, "as long as it's ethical."

"In my eyes?"

"In mine."

"Damn." He tilted his head back and sighed again. "Well, perhaps it will have to do. I have your word on this, now? This isn't something that will slip your mind when poor old Lau comes to you needing help, will it?"

Elizabeth shook her head. She held out her hand. "I swear on my name as a Middleford."

"You swear on your name as a Phantomhive,” he corrected lightly. "You're on the path. Come and see me tomorrow, my dear. I'll have your answer for you then." He lifted Elizabeth's hand off of her lap, kissed the back of it, and she felt the rustle of paper between her fingers as he pulled away. "We have a deal."

"Miss Middleford!" It was Theodore. She twisted, and when she turned back around, Lau had vanished. Theodore broke through the crowd, his arm around the waist of a slender girl dressed all in white. She gave Elizabeth an appraising look, her eyes flicking over Elizabeth's face. She was pale, a ghostly little thing, her white-blonde hair left to cover her face on one side and caught up tight in the other. It was a lopsided look, but for some reason, it didn't look odd on her. It looked natural. Almost beautiful. "I told you I wouldn't be long."

"On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied, and her heart was beating very fast. "It's been hours."

"Oh, not nearly,” Theodore said. "Elizabeth, I would like you to meet my sister. Felicity, this is Lizzy Middleford."

Felicity smiled, and curtsied. Her drawl was almost as pronounced as Theodore's own. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the woman my brother won't shut up about."

"Won't shut up about?" Elizabeth echoed, and to her surprise, Theodore's ears went pink. He pinched Felicity's arm.

"Shut up."

"Very mature."

"Felicity knows everything,” Theodore said, and he put a hand down to his belt where the charm of the scorpion dangled, as though he thought she wouldn't understand what  _everything_  meant. "I thought, now that things are picking up a bit, it'd be good for y'all to get to know each other."

"Oh, for goodness' sake,” Felicity said. She turned back to Elizabeth. "What he's too shy to tell you is that we're having an event this weekend to celebrate the successful test run of Theo's pet project. And he thought—we _both_ thought you might be interested in attending. What do you think, Miss Middleford? I hope we haven't offended you."

"Not at all." The paper Lau had slipped her crinkled between her fingers. She discretely tucked her hand into her pocket as she curtsied a bit. "Rest assured. I would be honored to attend such a monumental occasion."

Felicity clapped her hands. "Wonderful! You will have to spend the weekend of course. It's out at this manorhouse in Surrey, near Dorking. Theo bought this lovely little house nearby, so we won't be staying with all the snooty businessmen. And of course you can bring your maid, so don't worry about that. Oh, it'll be wonderful! It's been so long since I've had a girl my own age to talk to. Theo's a dear, but he's also, you know…" Felicity wrinkled her nose. "Male."

"I have a brother too,” Elizabeth said, struggling to fight her way through the sudden daze. All these words were making her head swim. What had she just agreed to?

"Then you know exactly what I mean." Felicity pulled Elizabeth's hand through the crook of her arm, and squeezed it, all smiles. "I get the feeling that we will be the best of friends, my dear Miss Middleford."

"Right,” Elizabeth said, and when Theodore brought the punch back, she swallowed as much of it as she could muster.

_Maybe parties are good for something, after all._


	15. His Cousin, Double-Dealing

The glass exploded in a thousand shards, high and sparkling in the dawn light. The smell of gunpowder was sharp in the air. Ciel lowered his pistol and watched the light flicker off of the shreds of the wine glasses on the pavilion table. They glimmered like diamonds; it almost hurt his eyes to look at them, the way the sun did when one looked straight into it for too long.

So much to learn, so little time, and he  _hated_  this part of any investigation. It was the part where one had to wait to see if anything would happen, once one had stirred the pot enough. He was still waiting, and it had been nearly a month. He had men watching all of the members of the Zodiac, but they were too damned subtle, not to mention the fact that most of the watchers could be bought with coin and had probably been bribed.  _No way into the houses without disfiguring myself, no way to have them watched without doubting every word I hear_. And every day, he was sure, more of the makings for the automata were being swept off the streets. The lonely, forgotten people, the ones no one would miss—whores, beggars, thieves, murderers, drug addicts and drug merchants, the dregs of society, the people that no one would remember, the ones that everyone would care to forget.

It was strangely brilliant, this plan. He wasn't sure whose idea it had been to use the beggars—probably Parker's, he thought, and shot another glass off of the railing of the pavilion—but it was a brilliant one. The sort of people that no one remembered were the sort that could go missing without an outcry. And God knew in a city like London there were probably thousands of them. Hundreds could vanish without a single person realizing it. There were so many poor here. So many poor  _everywhere_. This plan would be applicable in any city in the world, as long as it was big enough.

_What plan? We don't even know that much._

And that, of course, was precisely what Victoria wanted to know.

Another goblet exploded. Ciel set his pistol down, and pulled the box of bullets from his pocket to reload. He had too many crystal glasses, anyway. He could almost hear Sebastian now.  _Tools are meant to be used, my lord, and not discarded. Tools are meant to be kept and used. To not use a tool that is willingly offering yourself into your hands could prove to be the worst mistake of your life._

Ciel's hands shook a bit as he set up more glasses, and then he blew them away,  _bang-bang-bang_ , and a flock of birds was startled into flight in the forest around the manor. They swooped up to the sun, cackling, and he considered shooting at them, too, but there was no point. He didn't eat crow, anyway.

He reloaded, and reloaded again, until there were no more glasses and the sun had risen enough that it was beginning to warm his skin. Then he went back inside to change. He would have to have Bard or Snake clean it all up. Finny would cut himself trying, and Maylene wouldn't notice it at all until she stepped in it and sent herself to the hospital.

The silver weight was still heavy on his desk when Ciel finally retired to his study and locked the door behind him. It was perfectly smooth, in the shape of an oval, and he didn't even know why it fascinated him so. It was just  _there_ , made of steel, probably worthless, but he'd stolen it for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd thought once or twice it could have been one of the Scarabs Bard had mentioned, but there was no catch for it to unfold itself into any sort of shape, and he probably would have been bitten by now if it had been anyway. Ciel dropped into his chair and picked up the weight, rubbing his thumb over it absently as he thought. It would have been much more helpful if he had Undertaker to snoop around, instead of the few remaining urchins loyal to the Phantomhive family. At least Undertaker had known the meaning of real stealth.

_This beautifully stitched skin as white as wax, just like when they were alive. Their mouths that cannot clamor noisily or tell lies any longer. Aren't they all far more beautiful than when they were alive?_

Maybe human beings were more beautiful dead. The brand on his back tingled a little with the memories. Ciel turned the steel weight over in his fingers. As sick as Undertaker's game had been, and despite its consequences, he had not been the only one at fault. The humans of the Aurora Society had been as well.  _Complete salvation of mankind through medicine_? An excuse to experiment on their fellow men, and to trick grieving families into reviving their loved ones into monsters. The Bizarre Dolls.

_The pop of skulls, the spatter of blood and brain, and Lizzy was warm in his arms, her face pressed tight against his shoulder. She wasn't crying, nor was she trembling, but he could feel her heart pounding like a rabbit's, and Ciel realized with a start that his own was doing the same as the moans of the Bizarre Dolls echo through the underbelly of the ship —_

_A different time, a different place, but she was the same, heart pounding, warm against him. She felt different, though. More forbidden. Something he no longer had the right to touch, not because she was too holy—because if Elizabeth Middleford was anything, it wasn't holy—but because he was too dark. Too full of corruption. He would destroy this creature in his arms, but the fear of losing her closed his throat up and throttled his mind into nothing._

He shouldn't be remembering.

_I'm all right, Ciel. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, dear. I'm not going to leave you. Not for as long as I live._

_Stop it_. He clenched his hand into a fist around the steel weight.  _Stop it now._  There was no point in thinking about Elizabeth. He had made his choice, and there was no going back on it. Not while the investigation was still ongoing, probably not ever.

His healing finger protested. Ciel stared at the steel weight, tight in his palm; slowly, he relaxed his grip on it, and set it back on the desk. It lay there, still and cold—because no matter how long he held it, it never seemed to take on the warmth of a human body—and he looked at it for a moment longer before he pulled the bellrope. It only took a breath for Sebastian to poke his head in.

"You summoned me, my lord."

"I did,” Ciel sat in his chair again, steepling his fingers, and Sebastian closed the door behind him. "I assume there's no news."

"None that I am aware of." Sebastian cocked his head in that funny way he had, when he was intrigued by something—a thought, a person, a word. He set his finger against his cheek, considering. "It is the full moon beginning this Saturday, my lord."

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

"Clearly the Zodiac has some consideration about it." He cleared his throat, and then repeated something Elizabeth had told them, exactly in Beddor's quavering voice. " _This is too immediate a problem to wait for the full moon._  It would seem to me, my lord, that whatever they're doing will take place over the three days of the full moon this month."

It was a minute detail, but one he shouldn't have forgotten. Ciel hated it when Sebastian reminded him of things like that. He scowled a bit. "A theory only."

Sebastian's smile grew a bit wider, but he stood up straight again, and bowed at the waist. "Just as you say, my lord. A theory only. But one with credence, maybe."

"If all you're going to do is prattle, then you can go." He frowned. "Go and find something useful for me. I can't stand sitting around here much longer."

Sebastian turned to leave.

"And send Bard up here, will you? I want to ask him a few more things."

"Naturally, my lord," replied Sebastian, and he bowed one more time before vanishing out the door. Ciel waited until the sound of footsteps vanished before standing and crossing to the blackboard, pulling his map of London down over late-night chalk scribblings. He had all the pieces, he was certain of it; all that left was putting it together, but he couldn't make them fit. Why the whole plan in the first place? What was the point of making the automata? There were multiple commercial applications towards fake, inexhaustible human bodies, he supposed—it meant that no one would ever have to work themselves to the bone over a job again—but there was something else. He was certain of it. The opium was used to lower the barriers of the mind, to allow for easier soul extraction, he was certain of that too, but why so much? There had to be something else there. There  _had to be_. But their defenses were too tight; he  _couldn't find it._

"Hey." Bard. He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly. "You sent for me?"

"Yes." Ciel began to pick the purple pins out of his map. There was no point in keeping them there. Most of the factories had been closed down or moved to new, undisclosed locations. Besides, he'd gone over every single location so many times, trying to find a connection, that he could recite the addresses in his sleep. "I wanted to talk to you again about how you escaped."

"I told you." Bard drew a breath, and ruffled his hand through his hair. The injured one lay on his thigh, still bandaged up. "It was the girl. She seemed a bit off in the head, to be honest, and she probably wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. I only talked to her twice."

"Did she say why she let you go?"

"According to her, I didn't deserve to die." He shifted in his chair. "So she gave me the antidote to the Scarab poison and sent me out of this little trapdoor thing. It opened up on the Thames. The boatman took me upriver, and let me off where I asked, and I limped back to Mayfair. But you know that already."

He did. He'd heard Bard's story far too many times too, and had his share of doubts about parts of it. The girl's name, for one thing. The fact that she had jumped fifteen feet into the air, for another. Then again, his investigations were rarely ever simple; even dosed up on a potent mixture of opium and some drug that even Sebastian had been unable to identify, it was possible that Bard had, indeed, spoken to Theodore Parker's sister, and she  _had_ demonstrated superhuman jumping capabilities.  _It makes one wonder precisely what else she can do._  "Is there anything else you can think of, anything at  _all_ , that might be important?"

"I've been thinkin' about this twenty-four-seven since I came back, milord. I swear I've told you everything I can remember." Bard bit his thumbnail. "But it doesn't seem a sound strategy, letting me go. Telling me her name, either."

"She could have been lying."

"No." Bard shook his head. "No, don't think so. Maybe she thought I was too doped up to remember anything."

That, too, was possible. Ciel filed it away, and cursed himself for not thinking of it before. He was too distracted. "Again, Bard, if you think of anything—"

"Tell you right away." Bard stood. Then he hesitated. "Sir, d'you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not particularly." He was already back in the case anyway. Bard shifted his feet for a few seconds, taking a breath.

"Why did you break the engagement, sir? So sudden?"

Ciel's hands went still on the blackboard. Bard immediately backtracked, began to stammer. "Sorry, sir, I shouldn't have asked, I'll leave you to it—"

"Shut up,” Ciel snapped, and Bard froze with his hand on the doorknob. The words twisted up inside him like a poison. He swallowed them, but they came back up, like bile. They would not be denied. "Elizabeth…it's safer this way. For her. She doesn't…" He struggled for something that made sense, something that felt right. "She doesn't deserve this life. Without it…she'll be happier."

_She'll be happier without me._

Something in his chest settled at the realization. Something else fractured. Ciel kept his eyes on his hands as he systematically de-pinned the map and deposited the bits of metal in the little box on the edge of the blackboard. There was a long silence from behind him, and when he finally turned around, he found Bard watching him with a funny expression, one he'd never seen on the American's face before. It was dangerously close to pity.

"Reckon you might be right about the first bit, my lord. But the second…" Bard let out a sigh. "I'll believe it when I see it, if you don't mind."

Ciel looked at him for a long moment. Then he turned back to his maps. "There's a bunch of broken glass out on the pavilion. Clean it up, please. Before Finny finds it."

"Yes, milord," Bard said, and the door closed behind him with an unnaturally gentle click.

Ciel was alone.

* * *

The address Lau had given her was in a dirty little neighborhood in Cheapside, but she had the cab stop a few blocks away so she could step out into an alleyway where no one would notice her face. She'd convinced Paula to take in one of her very old gowns and make it ratty—well, not ratty enough to be  _ratty_ , but ratty enough to make her unnoticeable—and when she stepped onto the street she was suddenly very glad she had. She could only imagine what it would have been like if she had swanned in here in her full Middleford manner; she would have been driven away with sticks and stones.

She could hear the toll of the bell at St. Paul's from here. Noon. In a nearby alley-mouth, a child looked at her with haunted eyes and then turned back to rummaging in the dirt. She wondered what he was doing, and then dragged her mind away.

The house was boarded up. Elizabeth stood there and looked at it for a moment before checking the address on the paper, comparing it to the number on the door. Yes, it was correct, but why on earth would Lau send her to a boarded up funeral parlor?

 _The door will be open._  The paper whispered at her. Elizabeth tucked the paper back into her pocket, trying to ignore the dampness on her palms, before glancing up and down the street, and opening the door.

It smelled of dust and cobwebs. Light hadn't hit the walls in ages; they were peeling and moldy. Slots of sunlight glinted through the planks of wood that had been nailed over the windows, just enough light for her to see by when she shut the door behind her, and Elizabeth pulled her handkerchief from her pocket to cover her nose and mouth before she started to sneeze. The place was eerily silent; the sound of her own heartbeat pounded in her ears as she studied the coffins, two of them open, most of them closed and leaning against the wall. She'd never been inside a funeral parlor before.

"You're early." Lau's soft voice echoed from the back room, and he stepped into the light, tilting his head. Ran-Mao trailed behind, as always. "Good. I don't want to stay in here any longer than I absolutely have to. It's creepy."

 _You're telling me._  She sniped, silently. Elizabeth lowered her handkerchief. "What is this place, anyway?" Her real question was: How could a funeral parlor  _close_? There were so many dead, all the time, that she had always thought funeral parlors were continuously in business.

"Interesting story, that." Lau shrugged. "The place once belonged to a funny old undertaker. He's gone now, but he still lets me use it, on occasion, as long as I don't touch his things." Lau trailed his fingers along the edge of the desk, leaving lines in the dust. "You came. I wasn't sure if you would."

"Why?"

"You never know." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and then dropped it again. "Nobles are curious creatures."

"Everyone is curious."

"You'd be surprised." He dusted off the end of the table, and perched on the corner, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Miss Middleford? I do have to meet your hilarious ex-fiancé after all of this, and it'll take hours to get out to that ridiculous manor of his."

Elizabeth reached into her pocket, where she'd tucked her list of questions, and then thought better of it; she didn't want to look like a child by revealing it. She cleared her throat. "How much do you know?"

"The Earl Phantomhive was disinclined to tell me much about the case rather than the opium angle." Lau pulled a coin from his pocket—it looked Chinese—and began to twirl it between his fingers. He didn't look at her. "So I'm afraid you've given up a favor for not much return, Miss Middleford."

"But how much do you know?" Elizabeth set a hand on her hip. "I doubt you would have ever assisted him without  _some_ background knowledge, and you eavesdrop better than I do. I'm certain of it."

Lau coughed, and gave her a look laced with humor. "I claim no such talent, Miss Middleford."

"But if you did, what would you have heard?"

"Oh, I imagine I would have heard many things over the years." Another shrug. "Most of it inconsequential when it comes to this case. Regardless. You have to be a little more specific about your questions, I can't be expected to read minds."

"Of course not,” she said, and let out a breath. "Of course. What precisely have you spent so much time working on for Ciel in regards to this case?"

He applauded silently. "Better. My lord Phantomhive requested that I investigate and, if possible, halt the flow of opium buyers that have been leaking into the trade ever since the Zodiac began their work."

"And when was that?"

"I first became aware of a leak in the opium trade around two years ago."

Two years. So right after the  _Campania_. How things worked out. She let out a breath. "How much opium are they buying?"

"Much more than could be expected to be used on twelve men unless they wanted to kill themselves." Lau scratched his chin. "Of course, they're being stealthy about it in their way. The only reason I became aware of it was that my people noticed a theft after one of the regular buys and brought it to my attention."

So Lau sold opium. Elizabeth filed this information away. She wasn't sure if she was surprised, because Ciel's followers had always been on the dark side of the thin line between good and not-good, but an opium dealer…she might be able to work with that eventually. "I'm assuming that they had different men buy it on rotation?"

"Obviously, otherwise I would have discovered them sooner." Lau leaned back on the desk, staring at the cobwebby ceiling. "Mostly the men of Shirakawa and Beddor. Beddor traded in the Orient, as you probably know; he had the appropriate connections to find the big-sellers."

Shirakawa. "But he's not Chinese, is he?"

"No, Japanese." Lau wrinkled his nose. "The house in Kensington was his."

"How do you know about the house in Kensington?"

He lifted an eyebrow, and continued without answering the question. "Beddor manages the place in name only. On days when the Zodiac doesn't use it, it's a den."

"In Kensington?"

"The darkness lurks everywhere, Miss Middleford. Learn to recognize it." He frowned at her. "Any other questions?"

"I want to know everything you know about this case."

"Well, that's not particularly much, and I get the feeling my actual employer will be quite cross with me if I mention most of it."

"That's not my concern."

"Of course it isn't." And so Lau told her. He told her about conversations overheard by himself, overheard by Ran-Mao, whose silence meant she could act as a sponge; she had a remarkable talent, he revealed, of remembering everything she heard and repeating it exactly as it had been said. Elizabeth resolved to watch her mouth around Ran-Mao from now on. He told her about the book of mechanics, he told her about Ciel's investigation of the factory—not all the details because he didn't know all the details, but enough—he told her about the soul-cutting (which she almost couldn't believe, if it hadn't been for Ciel coming to find her in the dead of night and remembering how the dead had walked again on board the  _Campania),_ and he told her about Ciel's map. She didn't tell him she had an exact duplicate hanging over her desk, but she filed away some new locations that he'd pinned up anyway.

He also told her about the box she'd stolen, which Ciel kept on his desk—"full of letters," he said, and something in Elizabeth was disappointed. "I didn't get a good look at them. Of course, I might be tempted to try again."

"And what exactly would tempt you?"

"You're spoiling me, Miss Middleford! I haven't had someone so willing to do things for me in a very long time." Lau let out a long sigh, and gave her a look from under his eyelashes. "I must confess that I overheard you talking with the Texans at the party yesterday."

"So you know about the event this weekend."

"Exactly." Lau smiled at her, his eyes crinkling up. "Now, this wouldn't be my favor, Miss Middleford, but I was wondering if you could find something for me."

There it was. The crevasse. Walking along the edge of who she used to be.  _But I don't remember who I used to be._

_Then learn who you aren't, little sister. You'll uncover who you are soon enough._

She rather doubted this was the sort of thing Edward had had in mind. She took a breath, and let herself fall. "What do you want me to find?"

"Nothing much." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "One of the gentlemen of the Zodiac, Cutter, has extraordinarily sticky fingers. On his last visit to my esteemed establishment, he pinched something from me; a Chinese puzzle box. I'm quite certain he's been unable to open it thus far—it's a fun little gadget—but there are items in there of great personal value to me. It would be very helpful if you could retrieve it for me."

"A puzzle box."

"This long." He held his hands about six inches apart. "And about as tall as your thumb, I would say, made of ebony. There's a dragon carved in the top. I wouldn't ask you, Miss Middleford, but since you're getting along so famously with them already I thought, well, of course you could do it."

She frowned. "Why not ask Ciel to retrieve it for you?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that Ciel and that butler of his could get it for me much faster than you could, but the fact remains that you're the only one who has managed to get close enough to the Zodiac for them to trust you. Or at least one of them to trust you." Lau smiled at her. "The advantage of being young and pretty, I suppose."

She tried to act like the tips of her ears weren't burning red. "I don't know whether to say thank you or not. I feel like I should."

"It wasn't much of a compliment. There are many better things to be than young or pretty." He pulled a pocketwatch from his sleeve, and popped it open. "And on that note, it's time for me to leave. I need to be punctual, you know. Or at least pretend to be."

"I'm assuming the Chinese puzzle box is not the favor I promised you at the party."

"Correct,” Lau said. He beamed at her. "I must say, you're much more polite than his ghostly lordship. No protests or pretexts at all. It's refreshing." He snapped his watch closed. "I look forward to working with you, Miss Middleford."

Elizabeth made herself smile. "The feeling is likewise."

"And rest assured." He turned, halfway out the door. "I won't be telling the Earl about this little meeting. Your secret investigation is safe with me, Miss Middleford."

"Why?"

"Why?" Lau echoed. "Why, because it's interesting. I tend to keep interesting things to myself. I thought you knew that already." He tilted his head in her direction. "By the way, Miss Middleford, might I suggest something?"

Elizabeth straightened and waited, her head cocked.

"It would be inadvisable to go to this event alone." His hand traced Ran-Mao's shoulder, absently. "And a maid, no matter how useful, cannot always defend themselves. Simply a thought."

And then he vanished out the back door of the shop, leaving Elizabeth to stare at the coffins, and wonder if she'd just made a deal with a devil.

* * *

Lau, of course, burst in without knocking. Ciel nearly threw a dart into the dealer's face before he realized the door was open and that his target would be an actual eye, rather than a bull's-eye. He nearly threw the dart anyway, for revenge on Lau's lateness. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, you summoned me, my lord! Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Not particularly, unless you have something to tell me. I've had altogether too many interruptions today." Finny had found the broken glass before Bard had cleaned it all up. Which, of course, meant screaming pain. He'd had a headache since midday and it was getting worse. "What do you want, Lau?"

"Well, to help you, of course, just like always!" He smiled. "You'd be interested to know everything that's happened over the past week. Why, just a few hours ago, I—but I promised not to talk about that."

"There's nothing about you or your life that I'm interested unless it pertains to my case, Lau. I've told you that a thousand times." Ran-Mao shut the door, and Ciel threw his dart. It hit two rings out from the center.  _Damn._ "What do you have for me?"

"So direct, my lord. If you spoke this way to anyone else, they'd think you were being rude."

"That's not my concern." Lau snickered. Ciel scowled at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. That's just the second time I've heard that today, is all." Ciel lifted a second dart, and Lau ducked and covered. "All right, all right, I'll tell you! There's a meeting of the Zodiac this weekend out in Dorking, at the Cutter mansion. From what my little birdies tell me, the whole of the Zodiac is going to be there for the entire weekend. Nobody quite knows what they'll be doing, though. Not even my little birds could work out that much. But they're taking all of their new toys with them." He tapped Ran-Mao affectionately under the chin. "Isn't that right, pet?"

Ciel went to the dartboard and pulled all the darts from the cork, considering. "Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Get some rooms in Dorking. We'll leave at first light."

Sebastian bowed, a thin smile spreading across his face. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

She talked to Paula about it first, because Paula had been her best friend for so long, and her only confidante for longer. To say that Paula was relieved about being set free from her duties for the weekend was an understatement; as brilliant as she'd been against Sebastian, Paula was not much of a fighter. Elizabeth smiled and let her be relieved. She deserved a break from the madness anyway; she had a husband now, and couldn't be expected to be dragged into everything Elizabeth did anymore.

Edward couldn't go. It would ruin the dynamic she'd been crafting with Theodore and his newly discovered sister. His overly-protective streak (so obvious with Ciel) would make a startling reappearance, and that would ruin her plans. If her idea of snooping as much as she could was really a plan. So Edward was out, and she wasn't about to bring her mother or father or Rebecca Beddor for that matter; without a doubt, Rebecca would either already be there (with her father, which would mean she knew about the project) or she would be completely unknowing of the whole affair. Elizabeth rather suspected the latter.

And Ciel, of course, wasn't an option, so that left her one person.

"Colleen," she said, and the Irish girl looked up from the floor where she was stretching, tucked in amongst Nina's many mannequins. "The trip this weekend…I was wondering if you wanted to go."

Colleen studied her for a long moment. Then she sniffed a bit, and frowned. "Well, that depends on what I'll have to wear."


	16. His Cousin, Discombobulated

Snake didn't like Dorking.

It might have been because he came through Dorking once with the Noah's Ark Circus, and that part of his life still stung when he thought of it, of all of them, Joker and Beast and the Doctor and Doll, who had vanished without telling him where to go. But that wasn't it. It might have been because he had to leave most of his snakes at the house, lest one of them blow the game by revealing itself—exotic vipers on their own in England? The thought was ridiculous—but even though that was a wrench (he hated leaving them behind with every fiber and scale) it wasn't because of that, either.

He didn't like Dorking because it stank of blood. Just like the  _Campania._

Nobody else had noticed it. Snake hadn't brought it up. It might just have been his imagination, after all. He'd never liked traveling to new places; they made him nervous. One never knew how many people would notice his disfigurement, or how they would react.

Of course, hiding in the alleyway didn't do much to keep people from looking at him funny. He'd been extra careful; only Dan was out of hiding, and that snake was so small he could curve around Snake's ear and be almost completely invisible. Still, they had reason to be cautious. He set his hand up against his head, and Dan slid smooth as silk into his sleeve instead, where Wilde and Emily already lurked.

_So what? You're another person, so of course you look different. What do you need to be ashamed for?_

It was one thing for Smile to say, especially when Smile at least looked human. People gave him funny glances for the eye patch, of course, but that much was understandable. It was an accident, an injury, not a condition, not a disease that had thrown him into captivity for the first thirteen years of his life.

His back throbbed along the lines of scars. Snake drew a breath, let it out, and ventured out into the main street of Dorking.

Black had worked his magic yet again with last minute plans. Smile had demanded a house, and a small house had been purchased, not low class, with a lovely garden where his snakes could hunt and live in peace. Bard had been brought along, which was another reason Snake was uncomfortable with this trip—Bard still didn't like him, and was completely comfortable with making this feeling known no matter what the situation—but Maylene and Finny had been left at the Phantomhive manor to keep an eye on the place. Snake still didn't know why Smile had insisted that he be brought along—maybe because his friends, when used properly, could relay information that no human being would possibly be able to overhear—but he had been, and now he was stuck in Dorking, which stank of blood.

Of course, the thing about buying a freshly furnished house meant that there was no food in the whole place, and so Snake had been the one sent out to forage some. He bought a linked spiral of sausages, flour, sugar, milk, eggs, and a few other things, including a small cake that he knew Smile would like, and bundled it all into the bag on his back, ignoring the lingering looks and the whispered words. It would have to do for the moment. They wouldn't be here for longer than the weekend, and Black had that flair for cooking which meant he could make a feast out of the most charred and inedible food Snake had ever seen.

"Come on, Dan,” he said, and stepped off the curb, slinging the bag over his back and hoping he didn't break the eggs. "Time for work."

He dropped off the food at the new Phantomhive house (Black made an approving noise, the closest he ever came to a compliment; Bard scowled and promptly seized the meat so it could be charred into oblivion) before changing and slipping back out onto the streets as twilight struck. He snuck onto the back of a hay cart that was heading north out of Dorking, swinging his legs amicably over the dirt. Black had scrounged a ragamuffin costume for him, and it meant that he could pull a hat down over his head and wrap a scarf around the lower half of his face where the scales glinted in dim light, and just be a man hitching a ride out of the city. The Cutter manor was about three miles out of the city; it was mostly dark still when Snake slipped off of the cart again, and vanished into the trees around the edge of the wall, which was low and rough, perfect for someone to climb over.

He left Wilde in the front yard, with a caution to stay away from dogs (Wilde tickled his ear with his tongue, and vanished under a rhododendron) before he shuffled back into the shadows, cursing his hair. It grew this color, silvery-white straight out of his skull, but it was too flashy.  _It should be Black doing this, he's the dark one, he's good at this sort of thing._  But Black was investigating in Dorking, and both Smile and Bard were known by the Zodiac, which meant Snake was the only one left. He set free another snake, slender, vicious Emily, in the side garden, and gave her the same warning.

It was only Friday, and the moon was close to but not entirely full. They had one more day before things started to get dirty. Snake drew a breath, let Dan curl around his ear again, and slunk back into the bushes, climbing a great gnarled elm tree he found on the northwest side of the house. The dogs—because he could smell them, heavy and rank—hadn't been let loose yet, but they would soon, and it wouldn't be good if one of them found him. Dogs and snakes didn't get along.

He would rather have sneaked into the house, made up some excuse, but Smile had been insistent.  _Stay on the outskirts. Don't let them see you. Three hours there, Snake, and then come straight back. Three hours_ exactly _, do you hear? We can't afford to let them know we've learned about this meeting. Not yet anyway._  He checked his watch, and stifled a hiss—two hours, forty-three minutes left, and there was a knob of wood stabbing into his back. He hoped his snakes were all right.

Moon clambered slowly into the sky, her light splashing like silver scales over the grass and the flowers and the bushes. Snake stayed curled in his tree, and when they finally let the dogs free, he hissed at them, and they scarpered in a whining hurry. They stayed well away from his tree, too. At least it meant they weren't barking. An hour left, and his legs had started to cramp; it was cold in Dorking, even in April.

He was starting to recognize people through the flashes he spotted in the windows. There weren't enough. There were twelve people in the Zodiac—Bartholomew Cutter, Theodore Parker, Damian Beddor, Henry Collins, Nathaniel Fotheringhay, Jeremiah Anderson, Ryou Shirakawa, Richard Davies, William Cook, Vladimir Petrovsky, David Langston, and Michael Gillian—and he could only see six men in suits through the glass. It was, of course, possible, that the others were in different parts of the house, but somehow Snake doubted it. Parker was missing, for one thing, and from what he had overheard from Smile's and Black's conversations, as well as the information he'd spied on the blackboard in Smile's study, Parker was the glue that held the Zodiac together. The most lethal of them. Snake took a breath and let it out, holding tight to his branch. He didn't like leaving the ground. Snakes weren't supposed to leave the ground, not really, not unless it was someplace hot and sticky and there were great soft trees to curl around.

He heard it before he saw it: a carriage rolling onto the grounds. There was no insignia on the door, no coat of arms. Not one of the greater families. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see better, before checking his watch. Twenty minutes left on his shift. Snake slid back down the tree and put his hand to the grass, hissing softly, as Wilde trailed back up his sleeves to twine around his shoulders and throat. He whistled again, and his heart skipped a beat. "Emily."

No answer. The snake stayed away. Snake swore under his breath, and hissed again. " _Emily_!"

Tick tick tick went the watch. He couldn't stay here any longer, not with carriages rolling in. Emily would have to fend for herself for the night. Something in his chest tightened, like a leather band squeezing his rib cage; he hissed her name one last time, and then made his decision. He whispered something soft and reassuring to Wilde, and left her.

He stayed low to the ground, behind the bushes, inching his way around the wall to get closer to the gate. Someone was stepping down out of the carriage: Theodore Parker. He was sure of it. He could see the glint of the scorpion charm dangling from the man's belt from here. He stepped out first, and then turned to help out a delicate girl with white-blonde hair; she smelled of metal, and Snake's heart skipped a beat when he saw how she hid half her face behind her hair. Fellow freaks knew each other, knew the techniques; he wasn't sure what was wrong with her face, but there was no other reason for a girl that pretty to let her bangs grow long and block her sight. She touched the ground and beat the dust from her dark skirt, twirling on her toes to face the carriage again, clapping her hands together. A short, dark-haired girl emerged next, refusing Parker's hand; she had a sharp face like a fox and darting, daring eyes that flickered over everything. Snake ducked before she spotted him.

Then the carriage creaked again, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

Because it was the Lady Elizabeth, cool and composed, her hand light against Parker's, stepping down onto the gravel.

Snake turned, hissed one final command into the blackness of the garden, and bolted through the open gate into the night.

* * *

 

For the most part, Cutter's manorhouse was chilly and dark. She had to blink slowly to let her eyes adjust enough for her not to trip over the stairs. "Sorry about this," Theodore had said, when she'd clambered up into the carriage back in London, "but we have to stop off just to let them know we've arrived before we can move on to the townhouse. Rather avoid it if I could, but business, you know."

She'd just smiled and nodded, the way he wanted her to. There was no particular reason for her to protest anyway, especially with Lau's puzzle box in the back of her mind, clamoring to be remembered. She highly doubted Lau would harm her if she came back without the thing—he'd given her no time limit and had made no threat against her if she failed to retrieve it—but it would have been bad form to renege on her end of a deal.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford. I am the daughter of the Marquis Alexis Leon Middleford and Frances Phantomhive-Middleford, the sister of Edward Middleford. I am single, but there is an interested party. I can speak in tongues, write in codes, and manipulate poisons. I like to ride and to dance and to go to the theatre. I'm willing to broker a deal with a known criminal. I won't break my promises. And I am going to destroy the Zodiac if it is the last thing I do._

A little longer, a little cleaner, a little more ambiguous. Elizabeth took a breath and let it out as one of the many maids took her traveling coat from her and vanished with it draped over her arm. Behind her, Colleen was taking everything in with narrowed eyes. She looked nothing like the guarded girl with pronounced cheekbones and scarred hands that Elizabeth remembered Ciel bringing to her home in the dead of night. Paula had laced her up in one of Elizabeth's older gowns, a startling sapphire blue. They'd trimmed her ragged hair so that it was cut short around her face; if anybody asked, they could claim Colleen had suffered brain fever. Hair-cutting was typical for those sorts of cases. It also explained how small she was, considering her cover age was a year or two older than Elizabeth. She'd gained weight, though most of it was muscle, and her gloves covered any scars or calluses from her old line of work. Elizabeth doubted even Cutter would recognize her, without her painted cheeks, her ragged dresses, and her dirty hair and skin. They would have to keep a close eye on Cutter to make sure that if he did recognize Colleen, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone.

They'd introduced her as Elizabeth's second cousin on her father's side, who had spent the past dozen years in Dublin (to explain the accent) and had returned to England less than a week ago (to explain why no one had ever heard of her). Elizabeth gestured to her, and Colleen linked arms with her, her fingers digging into Elizabeth's wrist. She was trembling, not enough for anyone to see, but enough for Elizabeth to notice, and she turned her hand so her fingers rested on the younger girl's wrist, reassurance and warning in one.

"This shouldn't take very long, ladies,” Theodore said, offering his arm to his sister. Felicity made a face at Elizabeth and Colleen both before accepting it. "Just have to report in to Gillian and the rest, and then we can head back to Dorking and tuck in for the night, yeah?"

Elizabeth smiled at him. The effort made her jaw ache. "Brilliant. I could use some sleep."

"We've only been traveling for a few hours, Elizabeth."

"Really? It felt longer. That carriage was rattling like an earthquake." She quirked an eyebrow at him before sweeping by, her arm tight through Colleen's, and following the retreating maid down the hall to the billiards room where the men were lurking.

Half of the Zodiac was missing. She recognized Henry Collins, his lion pocket watch gleaming halfway out of his vest pocket; Nathaniel Fotheringhay with the ram-charm on his own watch chain. There was Petrovsky too, with a fish-tailed goat embroidered onto his waistcoat, and Cutter.  _Virgo_ , she thought, studying him,  _representation of the Virgin_ , and her stomach turned. Next to her, Colleen went quite still for a moment. Elizabeth grabbed her hand and squeezed it, hard, almost pulling her forward.  _Don't give the game away now._

They all stood when Elizabeth, Colleen, and Felicity entered; Felicity was greeted with smiles and familiar cheek-brushing kisses, Elizabeth with bows and shaken hands. Colleen, foreign, had to be introduced; she bent down into a knee-breaking curtsy, and Elizabeth reminded herself to congratulate and thank both Nina and Paula profusely. They'd transformed a tramp to a lady in less than a week. One could only hope the training held.

Cutter was introduced last. Elizabeth had brought her blades with her, the real ones, not the foils, tucked into the bottom of her trunk; her hands were itching for them as Cutter looked her up and down, and then flicked his eyes to Colleen. Elizabeth held her breath, but there was not a single hint that he recognized Colleen from anywhere. His eyes lingered on her chest for a moment before he moved off, dismissing her almost completely; he retreated to the couch where Felicity held court, and proceeded to glower at them both from across the room.

Theodore vanished a few minutes later to the solar, where, apparently, Gillian—the older man, Pisces—and Shirakawa—Gemini—were lurking. Beddor would arrive tomorrow, as would the rest of the group. Elizabeth laughed, and flirted with Fotheringhay, teasing him about his cousin Stephen; Fotheringhay was quick-witted and charming, with a face many women would kill for: dark hair, a soft mouth, slashing grey eyes, almost feminine in his look except for his sharp jaw. The same way Ciel was. She inhaled and exhaled shakily, and found herself rubbing her finger where the engagement ring used to be. She was gradually getting feeling back, the way one gradually grew warm again after being cold for a very long time, but thoughts of Ciel brought back the Numbness, and she couldn't be numb right now.

She forced the thought away.

"Miss Middleford." Henry Collins bowed to Colleen. "And Miss Elizabeth. I hear tell from the lovely Felicity that your journey up to Dorking was reprehensible."

"It wasn't as bad as it could have been,” Elizabeth answered, smiling at him. In spite of herself, she almost liked the gruff, barking Collins—the Leon from Rebecca's birthday party, with his big fists and his furious snarl, was never far from him, not like the other members of the Zodiac, who transformed once they took on their roles in their little confederation. "And how long have you gentlemen been here?"

"I came last Saturday to help Cutter set everything up." Collins inclined his head to Cutter across the room, who kept his eyes away from all of them, staring blankly at the wall. "Petrovsky and Shirakawa showed up yesterday. Gillian came this morning. I have to say, it's a shock that Parker brought you with him, Miss Elizabeth, though I can't say I'm surprised. Or displeased,” he added hurriedly, when Elizabeth arched her eyebrows at him. "It's good for Miss Felicity to have other females in the house. We all worry about her."

 _So Felicity is the darling of the Zodiac._ There wasn't much reason for her to be, so far as Elizabeth could tell. Nor was there a reason for them all to be cautious around Felicity too, or to look at her like she was their dream come true. Strike one against Felicity. She would have to figure something out sooner or later. "You all seem very close."

"Parker joined a year ago, but we knew him from before that. Felicity…she has a sad story." He cleared his throat, and then lowered his voice. "A few years ago now, she was pushed out of a window. Glass went in her right eye; they had to give her a replacement, and that side of her face is all over scars."

Colleen gasped. Elizabeth set her fingers to her lips. That explained the bangs, at least. "That's  _awful_."

"By accident, of course." Collins lowered his voice—as much as a man of his volume could lower his voice, of course—and continued. "Her spine was broken. She couldn't walk. Parker heard about our little project from Shirakawa while he was traveling in the Orient, and he came to England with his sister to see if Petrovsky could do anything for her." His eyes flickered to Colleen. "Um…"

"Colleen, can you go talk to Felicity for a moment? She's drowning in men."

Colleen nodded, and stood up. Collins waited until she was out of earshot before he lowered his voice even further, and said, "Fee…We replaced her spine, and her broken legs. She's the first human being with mechanical parts."

Mechanical parts. Elizabeth glanced in Felicity's direction, and found the girl's visible blue eye gleaming at her, a knowing smile on her lips. She shook her head slightly, mouthed, "Later," and returned to flirting with Fotheringhay. She murmured something about how terrible it was, and Collins laughed. "No, don't worry about Fee. She's a champion. She tinkers with the machines herself, now. Suggests modifications for her new parts, draws it all up herself." He let out a breath. "If she wanted, she could lead the project instead of her brother. She's more talented than he is, to be frank."

"But she doesn't want to?"

"Not particularly,” Felicity called from across the room. "The last time I tried to sew, I stabbed myself in the fingers so many times it was like I'd grabbed a cactus. I don't particularly like blood, sir, and cloth is most definitely  _not_ my forte."

The men in the room laughed. Elizabeth laughed too. So did Colleen, soft laughter, bedroom laughter. Nathaniel Fotheringhay's eyes snapped to her and stayed there as she leaned forward and patted Felicity's knee, her eyes fixed on Elizabeth. "I don't know anyone who likes blood, dear."

There was the snap of a match, and the sudden smell of cigarette smoke made her want to sneeze. Elizabeth glanced around, and Theodore grinned at her from the door frame, his eyes flicking to Felicity for a second. He smiled at his sister, and for a second, Elizabeth didn't see Theodore Parker, Skorpios, apparently the head mechanic in a movement that killed and kidnapped and transformed human beings into soulless machines. She saw Theo, nothing but a boy, one who would do anything for his little sister. Even kill.

Could she say that she was really any different?

_I am Elizabeth Middleford. I can speak in tongues, write in codes, and manipulate poisons. I'm willing to broker a deal with a known criminal, infiltrate an unlawful and sadistic brotherhood. I won't break my promises. I'm ready to kill to save an innocent._

She thought she was ready to kill.

For an instant, she heard her father, deep in the back of her mind.  _Nobody ever knows if they're ready to kill, sweetheart, not until it happens and you have that choice in front of you. That unbearable, horrible, glorious choice._

She'd cross that bridge when—if—hopefully if—she ever came to it, because the thought physically turned her stomach and made her feel faint.

_I am going to destroy the Zodiac if it is the last thing I do._

_Hopefully without death._

"Elizabeth?" Colleen asked, and Elizabeth looked up at her. Colleen's eyes flickered over her face; she sat down, and drove her fingers into Elizabeth's knee. "Are you all right, cousin?"

"Yes." She struggled with a smile, and finally found one. "I'm perfectly fine, dear. Theodore, have you checked in?"

"All signed, sealed, and delivered." He smiled at her, his eyes tracing her. "Come on, Fee, time to head to the townhouse."

"You sure? I wouldn't mind staying around here a bit longer."

"Getting late, dear."

"Oh, fine." She wrinkled her nose. "Ruin my fun." Felicity seized Nathaniel Fotheringhay's hand and pulled him down to kiss his cheek, lightly, and Elizabeth swore she saw pink dust the man's face. She stood, and curtsied to the room. "I'll see you in the morning, gentlemen."

"Sleep well,” Cutter said, in a surprisingly smooth voice. It was the first and only thing he'd said since they'd entered the room. Colleen smiled at him, and it was thin and dangerous as a razor.

"Of course, Mr. Cutter. You too."

* * *

 

"Someone was watching us."

Colleen had her legs tucked up tight against her chest. The nightgown, an old one of Elizabeth's, sagged on her like a shroud. Elizabeth shook the disturbing image out of her head, and turned back to the mirror, brushing her hair with perhaps more force than necessary. Her head ached from her hair being tied up all day. "What do you mean?"

"When we stopped off at the manor, I saw someone in the bushes." Colleen rested her cheek against her knees, keeping an eye on Elizabeth. "I didn't get a close look, but he probably wasn't supposed to be there. He ducked when I spotted him." Her brow creased, puzzled. "I think he had silver hair."

"So an old man." Elizabeth shrugged. "Probably a gardener. Don't be too anxious, Colleen."

"No, he didn't move like an old man. He moved fast." She bit her lip. "You sure the Watchdog don't— _doesn't_  know anythin' about this?"

Elizabeth glanced at the door. Three more days. Three more days to get through; three more days to find the Chinese puzzle box; three more days to work out a weakness, a technique, for bringing down the Zodiac, and using it. Preferably without blood, though she wasn't about to speak for Cutter. Colleen could have him. She'd been getting particularly good with knives. "I don't know. I hope he doesn't."

She braided her hair, tied it off, and crawled into bed. Colleen hesitated before taking the spot next to her. It was a one-bed room, and with their cover as cousins, there could be no complaining. Elizabeth blew out the gas lamp on the bedside table, and tucked her hand under the pillow, staring blankly at the window. Almost the full moon. She wondered if Ciel was nearby.

Something cool and scaly touched her foot, and she cried out, short and sharp. Next to her, Colleen leapt out of bed and seized her bag; Elizabeth scrambled out from under the covers too, and snatched a poker from the fireplace as the coverlet at the end of the bed moved. When the Irish girl turned back, she was carrying both her knives. "What in bloody God's-cursed  _fecking_  hell was that!"

"Sh, sh, sh." Elizabeth put a finger to her lips, and then touched the end of the bed with the poker, lightly. The blanket shifted again, and there was a soft hiss, one that she remembered from the Phantomhive Estate, and a silver-haired boy who had smiled at her once or twice on the  _Campania._

"Snake,” she whispered, and flung the covers back.

It was Emily. She remembered visiting Ciel's house once, and running into Snake. She'd known him from the  _Campania_ —sort of—but he'd shied away from her when it had been him and her and normal in England. She'd been fourteen and stupid and gone after him. Her reasoning had been simple—these people worked for Ciel. Eventually she would be Ciel's wife, and they would work for her, and she didn't want bad relationships with any of them. So she'd chased after Snake even though he'd tried to avoid her, and finally tracked him down in the garden, talking to one or two of his tagalongs.

It had taken her nearly half an hour to convince him that she actually wanted to talk to him, and another ten minutes to find something to get him to talk about. It had been his snakes. She'd strained her mind to remember the name and coloring of every single one. Snake had introduced her to them, and introduced them to her. "They know you, now,” he had said, shyly.

She'd looked up at him. "They won't bite?"

"They don't bite anyone they know. Says Oscar."

_They don't bite anyone they know._

One could only hope that Snake's pets had long memories.

"Emily,” she said, and held her hand out to keep Colleen from lunging and chopping the snake's head off. Colleen looked at her with bulging eyes, but Elizabeth shook her head and stared at the hissing snake. "Emily, it's me, Eli—Lizzy."

The snake hissed again, baring its fangs at her. It was smooth and golden-brown, as long as her outstretched arm. All of Snake's pets were poisonous, she remembered, and her mouth went a bit drier. "Emily, I know Snake. Did he leave you here?"

"You're talking to a snake,” Colleen spat. "You're talking to a  _snake_. What the  _fecking hell_ is wrong with you!"

"Shut up and sit down,” Elizabeth said, in a low, cold voice. She didn't look away from the snake. Colleen glared back before dropping down into her chair, tucking her ankles under her to keep them off the floor. She kept her knives grasped tight in her hands. Elizabeth put the poker down, slowly. Emily stopped hissing once it touched the floor. "Emily. Snake told me that you don't bite anyone you know. That you don't bite people unless he tells you to bite." She kept her voice soft and soothing as she shifted, turning, always keeping the snake in her sight. Emily turned her head, keeping Elizabeth in hers. "You must have followed us. Why did you know to follow us?"

Emily hissed.

"Did Snake tell you to follow us?"

Another hiss. She didn't understand snake—she wasn't sure if anyone could—but for some reason it seemed more supine than it had been before. Relaxed, maybe. She wasn't certain. She hesitated, and then sat on the bed. Colleen made a squeaking noise.

"He saw us, didn't he? He was the one that Colleen saw running away." Elizabeth reached forward, and paused. "You can't stay here, Emily. It's not safe for you here. Can I pick you up?"

The snake looked at her for a long, considering moment. Then it lifted its head, and nudged her fingers, lightly. She nearly jerked away, but there was no teeth, no pain, just the soft touch of scales. Elizabeth lowered her hand and scooped the snake up, and Emily twined up her arm to rest with her head, a surprisingly heavy squeeze against her skin. Colleen made a noise that could have been described as a rat being squashed, and her dagger clanged against the table. The snake didn't nuzzle her, like it would have Snake, but it rested its head against the spot where her shoulder and neck joined. Elizabeth wavered before running her fingers down Emily's spine.

"Colleen." She barely whispered it. "Is there a bag or something we can keep her in?"

"No." Colleen was breathing funny. "You're. Touching. It. Why."

Elizabeth ignored her. If Emily was here, that meant Snake was here, and if Snake was here, that meant Ciel was here, and if Snake had sent Emily to follow them, and reveal herself, then he wanted Elizabeth to know that Ciel knew she was here. Her mind was ticking, like a clock wound too tight. "You're sure there's not a bag."

"I'm positive." Colleen kept her eyes averted. " _Why are you touching it?_ "

"I assume you don't want to be locked in a trunk,” Elizabeth said to the snake. Emily hissed again, a distinctly grumpy sounding hiss. "I thought not. If you promise not to bite me, I won't lock you up. Because Snake wouldn't like that."

"You are  _not_ keeping that thing in the bed."

"Here." She stood, freezing when Emily shifted against her neck. Once the snake settled, she moved to the trunk, prodded it open with her foot, and said, "I'm not going to lock you in. But you need to hide. All right? You need to hide so that if someone comes in, they won't see you. Do you understand?"

She held her hand down. The snake squeezed her arm, painfully, but there were no fangs; after a moment, Emily slid away and buried herself underneath a dress. Elizabeth retreated, slowly, and sat on the bed, and for the first time she realized she was shaking like a leaf. Colleen tentatively put her feet back on the floor.

"You were right,” she said to Colleen. Her hands were damp with sweat. "You were right. You were right. He's here."

In the trunk, Emily hissed.


	17. His Cousin, Keeping Secrets

Elizabeth lay awake for a long time wondering where to keep Emily. The snake would need to eat. She knew that. She also knew that there was no way she could let a snake that big wander around Dorking on its own. There would be more than enough things for it to eat at Cutter's manorhouse. The problem was getting it there.

Emily would not be placed in a bag. Or in a box. Or anywhere that closed, locked, could be tied, or shut in any way. Even vases were out of the question. She hissed and spat and reared back with bared teeth if Elizabeth tried to scoot her into a container. Colleen had dressed and left the room as early as possible, eager to avoid the snake, and Elizabeth wondered if she'd ever seen one as big as Emily before. If she'd ever seen  _any_ snake before. If she felt about snakes the same way Elizabeth felt about spiders, then her reluctance to stay in the room made much more sense.

_Oh. There's something else about myself that I have to remember. I don't like spiders._

Finally, she bit the bullet, and let the snake slide up her arm to hide under her dress. It was an incredibly queer feeling. This creature could bite her—could probably kill her—any time it wanted, but it was content to settle with its head resting on her shoulder and its body curled along her arm, down her sleeve. It tickled. She wondered how Snake dealt with all of his pets using him as a tree at once. He must have been impervious to tickling, trained by long years of snake charming. Elizabeth drew a breath—a shallow one, so as not to squash Emily—and checked herself one last time in the mirror to make sure the snake's body was truly invisible before heading down to breakfast.

There was ham at the buffet table. She cut pieces up and hid them in her napkin so Emily could slide down her arm and inhale them. It was  _creepy_ ; she had to bite the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood to keep herself from reacting when Emily's tongue brushed her fingertips. Felicity noticed she was shifting, awkwardly, and asked if she was feeling all right; Elizabeth nodded meekly, and when Emily nudged her fingers, searching for more, transferred some more cut-up ham into her napkin.

Theodore bounded into the room, beaming, just as Emily was finishing off her last few scraps of ham. Elizabeth forced a smile onto her face. "Good morning."

Colleen smiled too, but not quite so brightly. "Good morning, Mr. Parker."

"Mine eyes are blinded!" He grinned at them. Felicity frowned.

"What's bit you this morning, Theo?"

"Nothing except the obvious. I," Theodore said, wrapping his arm around his sister's neck and kissing the top of her head with a resounding  _smack_ , "am living in a household full of beautiful women."

Felicity shoved him away. "Get off, you lug."

"Killjoy." He flashed his eyes at Elizabeth, and his laughing face shocked her the way it always did. He wasn't supposed to be this normal. He wasn't supposed to remind her of Edward. He was supposed to be cruel and diabolical and horrid and  _completely_ unattractive. She bit her lip and looked down. "Come for a walk with me, Miss Elizabeth? Hate to say it, but we need to talk shop before heading back up to Cutter's gloomy old place."

"Of course." She shook her arm slightly, and Emily slid back up her sleeve, settling. "Colleen?"

"I'll stay." Colleen smiled, and her eyes went bright. "Miss Parker and I can play backgammon."

Felicity clapped. "Oh, wonderful, I haven't had a backgammon partner in ages."

Elizabeth stared at Colleen— _where on earth did you learn to play backgammon?_ —but Colleen jerked her head, and she smiled instead. "See you in an hour then?"

"Best make it two. They'll move on to chess next and woe betide anyone who beats Fee at that." The longer she spoke to Theodore Parker, Elizabeth realized, the less of an accent he had. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. She wasn't certain. It could have been either way. She smiled a bit.

"Colleen can hold her own."

"For cousins, you two don't look much alike." Theodore offered his arm, and Elizabeth shifted so that her arm would be the only thing to touch him before accepting it. Emily hissed, too softly; her rustling skirts covered up the sound. "Are you sure you're related?"

"Of course,” she lied. "I remember when we were children, maybe three or four years old, and we were fighting over something silly—she bit me. I have a scar still."

Theodore laughed. "Did you bite her back?"

"Of course. And then I sat on her until she gave in." It was a true story, only it was Ciel, not Colleen, who had driven his teeth into her upper arm until he tasted blood. She'd squashed him for half an hour afterwards, demanding an apology, even as Aunt Anne had cooed over her bleeding arm and Aunt Rachel scolded Ciel for biting in the first place. That, of course, had been before she understood what  _engagement_  meant. Before she'd realized that fencing wasn't exactly a girlish sport, that she wasn't supposed to know Italian or be learning hand-to-hand combat or codes or whatever else it was her father had taught her before last year. "Where are we going?"

"Surprise." He pulled her coat from the closet and helped her into it, and Elizabeth pushed her arm through the sleeve slowly so as not to scare Emily. "I think you'll like where we're going."

"I thought we were going to talk about production levels and ongoing projects?"

"Well, that too." He smiled at her. "Come on. Please?"

"Considering you already have me in my coat, I think I'm stuck."

His smile shifted, grew a bit softer. Elizabeth looked away before she saw what it became. She wasn't going to remember his humanity. She refused to let herself do that.  _He is a liar, a cheat, a murderer. He is despicable._  But when he smiled he was just…human.

She hated him for that, because it made what she was doing that much harder.

They caught a cab at the end of the road. He made her cover her ears when he told the driver the destination, and Elizabeth whispered something to the snake in her sleeve as the carriage began to rattle up the road. The roads in Dorking were truly awful, and she didn't want Emily to panic and bite her. Thankfully, the snake stayed quiet as the cab wound down streets she didn't recognize, through a neighborhood of pretty houses, and she wondered if she was passing Ciel without knowing it.

 _Stop thinking about him_.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Old things." She rubbed her ring finger, absently. "The past."

"Your fiancé."

"A little."

"Are you upset? About him breakin' the engagement."

"A little,” she said again.  _A lot,_  she whispered in her head _._ "It was an insult to me personally, first of all. And I…I grew up with it. So it was…hard…not to have that net any longer."

It was still hard. She had a feeling it always would be hard, had a feeling that even as she figured out who she was, even as she explored different parts of herself that had never come to the surface when she'd been engaged to Ciel, she'd always carry that feeling of Numbness when she thought of the engagement. Emily twitched in her sleeve. Elizabeth shifted to hide the snake. "I'm just working on being normal again. That's all."

"You have an interestin' take on normal,” Theodore said. Elizabeth laughed, and it sounded fake even to her own ears.

"Well, one must keep busy, you know. So, what exactly is going to happen this weekend? I've been in suspense since the party. Felicity made it sound so appropriately mysterious."

"We usually meet up every month durin' the full moon, but this is a special one. We've finished with our first hundred automata and they're all working perfectly. It's a success beyond anythin' we thought it'd be, and we need to present to the Director."

Her mouth went dry, and she had to seize the edge of the seat to keep herself from tipping.  _A hundred automata. A hundred lives._ "You have a director?"

"Kind of. It was the Director who pulled the first three members together in the first place, Cutter, Shirakawa, and Petrovsky, you know? We need to present you for consideration too, come t'think of it. What with you knowin' so much about the project now 'n all." He shifted the curtains aside to look out the window, and Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap to hide the fact that she was close to shaking. Emily twined her tail around Elizabeth's wrist, and squeezed. She wondered if the snake was listening, if it could understand, what it might relate to its master and what Snake, in turn, might relate to Ciel. If it really had been Snake Colleen had spotted running away—who else could it have been?—it was more than likely that Ciel already knew she was here. Her heart pounded faster in her chest.

"Who is the Director? Is it Gillian?"

"Good Lord, no." Theodore laughed. "That old stick? No. The Director's a secret, and one that we keep dear. It's thanks to the Director that we can do most of our work in the first place after all, so what the Director wants, the Director gets." He shrugged. "I'm pretty confident that he'll like you, Elizabeth, so don't worry."

"I'm not worried,” she said, but she made her voice tremble anyway. Theodore laughed again, and reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a shockingly intimate gesture. She felt herself blushing, and cursed herself for it.

"There's no way anyone could hate you, Elizabeth."

She turned away before he could see the expression on her face.

The carriage turned again, and started up an incline that made her long to tear the curtain off the window, so she could at least breathe air while spinning up and up and up. But she turned to Theodore instead, and prodded him as lightly as she could for information. The automata were folded up in crates down in the basement of Cutter's manorhouse, and the first thing the Director would do would be to go down, alone, and inspect them for their quality. Then he would come back up and give them more instructions. "The Director's poured a lot of money into this project," Theodore said. "He wants this thing done as much as we do."

"If the automata pass the inspection, what will you do with them?"

"Make more, probably. The ones we have will be kept in safety until the Director thinks it's safe to present the idea to society." He shrugged. "Probably in the next few months or so."

"How do you make them? Fee was talking about blood?"

"It's kinda nasty, you probably don't want to know."

"I do, though,” Elizabeth said, and stroked Emily's head with her fingertips, absently. "If I'm going to be involved, Theodore, I'll need to know as much as you do."

He grimaced at her. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Not at all."

"Fine." Theo let out a sigh. "We go 'n collect dead bodies. Fresh dead, mind. And then Cutter and Shirakawa and Petrovsky work on them, give them a new skeleton, replace their heart with clockwork and their veins with wires and things. We sort of…bring them back to life, only they're not human anymore, you see? They're machines."

She had a sudden image of moaning, gaping, bloody mouths in the belly of a ship, and wished she hadn't eaten quite so much for breakfast. Elizabeth stayed quiet for a long moment, watching him.

 _Lie,_  something in her whispered,  _lie, lie, lie_. Theodore knew precisely where Cutter found the bodies for the automata, and he most likely knew about the soul-cutting, too, but he was lying to her to make sure he didn't frighten her off before he trusted her enough to take it all on. Double-faced. Dangerous. He may not have killed anyone himself, but the blood of the women, of the men, of everyone who had vanished, their blood was on his hands.

 _You sicken me_ , she thought, and smiled. "How fascinating."

He blinked at her. "Really?"

"Well, of course." She fixed her smiling mask in place again. "What an incredible idea. Who designed the clockwork heart?"

He doffed his hat to her. "That was me, and Fee worked on the skeletons after Gillian threw them in the mud. I can show you some diagrams if you like, but only once we get back to London; I keep 'em safe in Beddor's library."

 _The book_. So they hadn't already discovered it was missing. Elizabeth nodded. "I would love that."

The carriage rattled to a stop, and Theodore beamed at her. "We're here. Come on. I want to show you something."

The driver had taken them all the way up to the top of Leith Hill. Elizabeth pinned her hat down to her head with her hand as the wind tried to carry it away, and bit her tongue to keep herself from yelping as Emily moved, curling down through her sleeve into her bodice.  _Stop doing that, you stupid snake_!

Theodore looked back at her and lifted an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"No, just…I stepped on my own foot. What did you want to show me?"

"This way."

It was Leith Hill Tower. She'd heard of this place from her brother, Edward, but she'd never thought she'd see it. It had originally been one tower, but there was another one attached now, thanks to the fact that thirty years before or so, a man named Evelyn had rebuilt the tower after it had fallen into ruin. Theodore talked to the man on guard and then gestured to Elizabeth. "Do you know, the man who built the place, Vaughan Williams, he's buried under the tower. Some people think it's haunted."

"You're horrible,” she said, and tapped him with her fan. "Stop teasing me."

"What, you believe in ghosts?" Theodore wrinkled his nose. "Really, Elizabeth?"

"I believe in the dead." Seeing them walk and moan and tear people's throats out had the tendency to do that to people. "So don't torture me."

"All right, then. Come on, let's go up to the top."

"Really? You're not serious."

"Please?"

Elizabeth wavered, and Theodore grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs before she could do more than laughingly protest.

It was colder up at the top of the tower than she'd expected. Elizabeth began to rub her arms, and when she felt the snake shift in her sleeve, decided against it. Wind whipped at her hair under the hat, pulling it free from its ties. It was a clear day, almost shockingly bright, and when she turned south, she couldn't help but laugh; she could see London at this distance, gleaming, and the soft sheen of the Thames. "Look!"

"You can see thirteen counties up here on a clear day like this one,” Theodore said, and she turned to look at him. He was staring at London too. "That's what they say anyway."

"Is this why you bought a house in Dorking?"

"Well, partly. The other half was that I hated staying at Cutter's place. It's like a bog." He shrugged, and took off his hat. His hair looked almost bronze in the sunlight. "Do you like it?"

"It's amazing." She glanced back at London again, and then down at Dorking. Emily shifted in her dress. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

They stood there in silence for a while. Elizabeth clung to the railing, ignoring the way the wind was tugging at her skirt and her hat, and stared out over the green. They would be heading to the manorhouse in a few hours at the most, and she would meet the Director. She took a breath. "It's beautiful here."

"It is."

"I was wondering—" she turned "—do you think—"

He kissed her.

* * *

"The Director has arrived at the Cutter manorhouse, my lord,” Sebastian said, and Ciel wiped down the barrel of his pistol one last time before setting it on the desk, next to the box of bullets. He was back in the lower class merchant costume, with the coarse patch over his eye, and he itched at it absently, trying to keep his eyelashes from catching on the rough gauze. It was a losing battle, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself from scratching. He pulled the cap onto his head and studied himself in the mirror. His hair was getting shaggy around his face, even by his standards. It needed cutting.

"There's something going on here that we don't know yet, Sebastian,” he said, and his eyes flicked to the reflection of his manservant in the mirror. Sebastian was dressed in the outfit he'd used during their surveillance on Beddor's private factory meeting—or the attempted surveillance, considering no one had ever shown up. The wool gloves looked strange on his long hands. "I don't like it."

"If it would make you more comfortable, my lord, I would be more than happy to observe the happenings myself and report back to you at a later time."

"No." Ciel turned, and narrowed his eyes. He'd grown used to keeping the right one shut. Sebastian smiled thinly.

"Why, don't you trust me, my lord?"

"As much as is proper,” Ciel replied, and tucked the pistol into his pocket. "Go and find Snake. He's coming along with us."

"Again, my lord? One would think you were becoming fond of the boy."

"He's useful,” Ciel said dismissively, though in the back of his mind he could hear Snake lowering his voice, speaking soft and fast.  _The Lady Elizabeth is there, my lord. She's there and she's working with the Zodiac._ Now, that much he doubted, but the rest…it would be better for Elizabeth if there was a third person there, to keep an eye on her, and keep her out of whatever—if anything—was going to happen. She no longer seemed to fully trust Sebastian, and besides, he wasn't about to let the butler out of his sight anyway. Not when he'd been so interested in the soul-cutting. And Ciel was going to be in no position to keep an eye on her himself. "Go and collect him, will you?"

"The contract is binding, my lord,” Sebastian said, and Ciel's hand went still against the steel weight on the desk. "I am legally and magically bound from taking your soul until I fulfill my end of the contract. Until we discover and destroy the men who murdered your parents, I cannot do a thing to you unless you order it."

His voice was soft and smooth, like still water. Ciel turned to look at him, and Sebastian's eyes were glowing bloody. He took a breath, and let it out, and something trapped in his rib cage relaxed slightly. "I see."

"It doesn't keep this new soul-cutting technology from being interesting, however,” Sebastian added. "In my estimation, it would be completely impossible for a human being to accomplish such a thing on his or her own. It is certain that otherworldly fingers are in this metaphorical pie."

"And yet you're insistent there is no demon."

"Not entirely." Sebastian frowned. "It… _is_  possible that they are masking themselves. If they were eating the souls, however, which is the most likely scenario, they wouldn't be able to hide. The basement of the factory would have been crawling with demonic residue. It wasn't. I would regard the possibility of a demonic hand in this to be…not  _incredibly_  low, my lord, but extremely."

"Could this also be Undertaker's work?" It had been something that had lurked at the back of his mind for days now, as the pale skin of the Bizarre Dolls danced through his dreams and tore off Elizabeth's head. "I doubt he would be so courageous as to develop another plan and draw our attention so openly, but the style of the plan—whatever it is—is similar."

"It is not in Undertaker's nature to come to the forefront of the stage, my lord," observed Sebastian, his face and voice carefully neutral. "Though it is not completely impossible."

"Except for the timeline." The Zodiac had begun buying opium two years ago, according to Lau's people, around the same time the  _Campania_ had set sail. If Undertaker really was behind it, that would mean he'd been influencing both the Aurora Society and the Zodiac simultaneously, and even for an individual of Undertaker's abilities, that seemed a bit of a stretch. Ciel snapped open his pistol and loaded it, bullet by bullet, thinking. "Fetch Snake, Sebastian. We leave in three minutes."

Sebastian bowed low. "Yes, my lord."

Ciel waited until the door had closed behind him before slipping the steel weight into his pocket as well. Perhaps he would finally start to comprehend the mystery of the thing when he was confronted with the Zodiac in person.

_Elizabeth. What are you doing?_

* * *

Elizabeth wiped her face dry for the fourth time since she'd returned to the house. Colleen hadn't asked why she'd slammed into the bedroom, silent and crying for reasons she couldn't quite explain; she'd just sat next to her and stayed quiet. She didn't even touch her, but it helped a bit. She let herself cry for ten minutes and then washed her face. And washed it again. She rinsed out her mouth, wiped off every trace of makeup, even scrubbed the spaces behind her ears and on the back of her neck. She still didn't feel clean, but there was no time for a full immersion bath; she had to change into something new, tuck Emily back into her bodice—she shuddered a little bit—and then hunt around for a little while before joining the Zodiac in greeting the Director.

 _The Director will want to talk to you one on one._  Parker's voice echoed in her head.  _After the dinner, go to the library, alone, and wait there. You'll meet the Director as soon as the inspection's over and the rest of us have gone downstairs._

 _And I still have the puzzle box to find_. Cutter didn't know she knew Lau. Nobody knew she was associated with the Phantomhives in any way anymore. Even if Parker and Fotheringhay and Collins treated her all right, she'd never really interacted with the others; she had no idea if they trusted her, if they believed her when she said she was on their side. So she would have to be careful.

She seized a bag, forest green silk with black lace trim to match her dress, big enough to hold something twice as big as the Chinese puzzle box without much effort. She had another box inside, something about the same size. Enough to fool someone in the dark. Elizabeth knelt by the trunk and set her hand inside, on the dresses. Emily brushed her fingers lightly with her snub-nosed head before gliding up her sleeve, and she rolled her shoulders, lightly, as the hair prickled up her spine. She might be taking care of this creature for Snake's sake, but that didn't mean she particularly liked it touching her.

Felicity talked the whole way back to Cutter's manorhouse. Elizabeth joined in once or twice, but for once it was mainly Colleen who carried the conversation; she didn't have much energy to put into talking. She also refused to look at Theodore, who hadn't said a word to her since he'd pulled away from her. He'd asked her to forgive him for the transgression; he'd asked her if she was all right. The only thing Elizabeth had been able to do was shake her head, wordlessly, and stumble back down the stairs of the tower.

She had always thought her first kiss would go to Ciel. She wasn't sure why that hurt her so much now, when the engagement was over and done with, when Ciel was in her past, but it ached inside her, something that shouldn't have been painful, but felt as though someone was tracing a razor down the inside of her ribs. And to Theodore Parker, of all people, though she probably should have guessed that was his intent when he brought her off on her own, away from everyone else, to a place like Leith Hill Tower.  _What else could he have wanted? If I hadn't pulled back, what else would he have done?_ Her mind leapt forward.  _What else would I have_ let  _him do if I hadn't pulled back?_

She wasn't certain of the answer, and that scared the living daylights out of her.

Parker hadn't looked up from the head of his walking stick—an eagle—since they'd loaded into the carriage, and hadn't said a word to anyone except Felicity.  _If he liked me before, at all, in his own disgusting way, I've probably destroyed that._  She should have felt irritated about that. Parker liking her had been a better in to the Zodiac than anything else she could have dreamed of. Instead it felt like her stomach was being torn into a thousand pieces. She clenched her hand into a fist against the door of the carriage, and in her sleeve, Emily tensed with her.

It was dark by the time they finally reached Cutter's manorhouse. She let the footman help her down from the carriage before she looked up into his face and realized that he had glass eyes. Elizabeth wrenched her hand away and took a few stumbling steps back, only to crash into Felicity; the girl seized her by the arms, leaned down, and whispered in her ear. "Calm down, darlin'. Just one of the automata. They don't hurt anyone, unless they're told to."

"Who tells them?"

Felicity smiled, and waited until Colleen was out of earshot. "Did you have to bring your cousin? It's makin' things difficult."

"Colleen's trustworthy."

"No one's really trustworthy until the Director says they are." Felicity's mismatched eyes trailed Parker into the house, and she added, "And even if Theo likes you, believe me, sweetheart, you're nowhere in this team without the Director's approval. So don't think you have a place here. Don't think we like you. Because believe you me—we don't."

Elizabeth cried out, softly, as Felicity's fingers dug into her arms. Panic hit her like a slap.  _Emily_. The snake, where was it? She couldn't tell any longer. Then she felt something slipping down her leg. Her eyes flicked back up to Felicity's, and she snapped her elbow out, hitting the girl in the stomach. Fee stumbled back with a choking sound, her good eye widening. Elizabeth stepped back, hiding Emily with her skirts, and said, "If you ever touch me like that again, I'll break your wrists."

"Ladies?" Parker stuck his head back out the door, hair tousled, face puzzled. Elizabeth's eyes flickered to the gravel. Emily was gone. "Are you all right?"

"Just chit-chat, Theo, nothing for you to worry about." Felicity took a few deep breaths, and smiled at her brother. "We'll be inside before you know it."

Parker gave her a funny look, but vanished back into the manorhouse. Elizabeth clenched her hand tight around her bag, and didn't look away from Felicity.

"Well, now,” Felicity said. "Don't  _you_ have an interestin' side."

"You're the girl with mechanical bits."

"Mechanical bits that could tear you apart,” Felicity said. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, Elizabeth Middleford?"

"I was supposed to be the wife of the Queen's Watchdog," said Elizabeth, and brushed by without a second glance at Felicity. "Do you honestly think I was raised to be a helpless nothing?"

She stalked up the stairs and into the manorhouse without waiting for a reply.

Another automata, a woman this time, took her coat. Colleen latched to her like a limpet as soon as Elizabeth found the drawing room again, silent and shaking, a bead of sweat on her upper lip. There was no time to ask her what was wrong. The whole of the Zodiac was there, and Felicity had them in the palm of her hand as soon as she swept into the room in her usual way, arms spread, demanding attention. Parker kept unusually quiet, and stood by the window, watching the drive and smoking furiously.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and outside the moon was climbing slowly but surely up into the sky. Despite the cheerfulness around Felicity's couch, the rest of the room was silent and brooding. Petrovsky was downing drinks nearly as fast as Parker was rolling cigarettes, and Gillian had pulled out a pipe and lit it before half an hour had gone by. The whole place stank of smoke. Elizabeth and Colleen made soft conversation, mostly about people that didn't exist, and listened to the clock ticking.

It was almost eleven when Elizabeth finally excused herself on the pretext of freshening up a bit. She was certain Felicity would have followed her if it hadn't been for the fact that oblivious Nathaniel Fotheringhay had just sat down beside her and drawn her into a conversation about machine parts. They were doing an admirable job, she had to admit, of hiding the whole thing from Colleen. The machine parts they were talking about were, of course, clockwork toys, because what else could it be? Petrovsky's eyes followed her out of the room, but he was content, she hoped, to stay by the fireplace sipping at his whiskey rather than trail her himself. One of the human servants showed her to the water closet, and Elizabeth locked herself inside until she heard the footsteps fade away.

She carried the pistol Ciel had given her in her deep skirt pocket.

She only had a few minutes. Elizabeth walked quickly and quietly back down the hall to where she'd spotted Cutter's study. She was doomed if the thing was in the library—which, according to the maids, was on the second floor—or if it was, God forbid, in his bedroom, because there was absolutely no way she was going to be able to get inside there without doing something completely outrageous. She shut the door behind her, pushing aside the memories of the last time she'd gone snooping, and glared at the room. As far as she could gather from the Zodiac, Cutter was a study-maniac. He rarely left the place.  _So if he's keeping it anywhere, it should be in here._

If Felicity suspected her of something, that meant the entire Zodiac did. Well, minus Parker, maybe. She went through the papers on the desk and found nothing. It was just possible that Felicity was only jealous—until now, the only female in a group of men, used to being adored. Simple chicken yard politics. She tried the drawers, but they were locked with no sign of keys. Cutter was smarter than Beddor when it came to keeping his things protected. She left the desk and went through the bookshelves, studying the volumes, hoping for a miracle. It all hinged on this Director. If she didn't meet with approval, then she was, quite literally, dead, and so was Colleen.

Her hands were shaking. Elizabeth tightened them into fists, wished she'd had a chance to bring her swords, and went back to the search.

She'd nearly given up when she finally saw the wide-throated vase. The ebony case was just as Lau had described: small, slender, with no obvious hinge and no lock. A true puzzle box. The dragon on the lid—on what she assumed was the lid—was intricately detailed; it carried a pearl in its mouth. She glanced quickly back at the door before switching the boxes, pulling her drawstring purse closed.

She'd barely slotted the vase back in its place on the shelf when the door opened, and Petrovsky stood there, staring at her. His white-blonde hair was combed back in a way that would have made her mother proud. Elizabeth yelped at the sight of him, and put a hand to her heart. "You frightened me!"

"What are you doing in here?" She'd never heard the man speak before, and his thick Russian accent made his words nearly unintelligible. She laughed, shakily.

"I…it's such a big house…I was lost and passing by and I saw the…the globe. And my father had one just like it a few years ago, I wanted to look at it."

Petrvosky looked at her for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. "Go up to the library. The Director will meet you there momentarily."

Elizabeth forced a smile onto her face as she scooted past him, the Chinese puzzle box thumping against her hip as she bolted up the stairs.

* * *

Colleen waited until the Zodiac left her—business, they said, a meeting that wouldn't take long, horrendously sorry, but you must excuse us—before she asked Felicity where the nearest window was. The girl did her one better. "There's a balcony, on the third floor; I'll take you to it if you like."

"That would be wonderful,” Colleen said. "The cigarette smoke is making my throat itch."

"Oh, Lord, how I know it." Felicity rolled her eyes. "I keep telling Theo to quit, but does he listen to me? Of course not. He's the elder of us, after all. He never listens to anything I say; it's just like talking to a rock…"

Lord, but this girl could jabber. Colleen wasn't surprised her toff of a brother didn't listen to her much, if she talked this way all the time.

They had to wait until the front door closed before they could head upstairs. Colleen clenched her hands in her skirt, and made appropriate noises when Felicity's flow of words paused; by the time they reached the third floor, Fee had gone from her brother to Texas to hogs to London society to machines, all seemingly without drawing breath, and Colleen was overtaken with a powerful urge to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. Thank God, Felicity excused herself when they reached the balcony—"I actually have to go to this meeting too; sorry"—and clattered back down the stairs, leaving Colleen unsupervised.

Prime snooping time, or it should have been. The balcony beckoned though. She closed the French doors behind her, took slow deep breaths of the clean Dorking air, and wondered if she could possibly scream without anyone hearing her. The snake. Cutter. The woman who had taken her coat before vanishing downstairs, the woman with the glass eyes, the woman with Mollie's face, stared blankly at her from the back of her mind, and suddenly she wanted to cry. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to kill. Colleen clenched her fists around the railing, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"You're too pretty to be crying."

She screamed, for real, and whirled around. The man stood, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight; he was taller than she was, that was for certs, and he was quiet as a cat as he jumped down from the roof to land near her on the balcony. Colleen snapped open her fan, borrowed from Elizabeth; the blades slid out with a soft noise that cut the air.

"Hey, watch it, darling." He held up both hands. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not your time to die."

"Who are you?" she snapped. "Are you one of the Zodiac?"

"Zodiac?" he asked, and he sounded so honestly puzzled that she blinked. "What are you talking about?"

She hesitated. Colleen chewed her lip, watching him. He wasn't as tall as she'd thought. She'd slice him up before he touched her, if he even tried. She made a snap decision. "Come into the light where I can see you."

He kept his hands up by his shoulders as he stepped forward, into the moonlight. It glinted off his glasses. She thought he could have been blonde; for some reason it was difficult to tell. He grinned at her, and for some reason, she lowered the fan. "What do you want?"

"I'm on assignment." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "A little reconnaissance."

"Reconnaissance for what?"

"For when it's time."

Colleen frowned. She snapped the fan closed. "Time for what?"

He smiled at her, wide and happy, and backed up to the edge of the balcony. "Well, for all the deaths, of course."

Then he fell over the edge. Colleen screamed, and ran to the edge, her heart pounding. But when she looked over, there was nothing and no one there.

No one but Ciel Phantomhive, staring up at her with his gun held in both hands, leveled straight at her head.

Inside the house, someone screamed.


	18. His Cousin, Reckless

Elizabeth screamed again. The sound came out muffled; a hand covered her mouth, another arm was wrapped around her waist, and even as she tried to slam her heeled shoe into someone's foot or her elbow into someone's rib cage, the grip on her tightened enough for her to whimper. It was difficult for her to move. Something was holding her down, keeping her still, and she wailed softly behind the man's fingers, panic lighting her up like a firecracker.  _Run, flee, fight, win_ , and her blood was pounding in her ears as she twisted her wrist and her knife slid down into her hand, ready to be used —

"It's me, it's me! Says Emily." Hot breath against her ear. Elizabeth froze. "It's Snake. Please, please don't scream. Says Wilde."

It  _was_ Snake; she could feel scales against her mouth where the hand was pressed, and as she fell still, a serpentine shape wrapped itself around her ankle, squeezing gently. When she looked down, Emily stared at her with bright eyes. Finally, she relaxed. The hand fell away, the arm disappeared from around her waist, and when she skipped out of reach to set her hands in front of her, defensive, Snake stepped back and looked away from her, pink. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, says Wilde."

"Snake, what are you  _doing_ here?" In spite of herself, she reached down, and Emily slid slowly up her arm to rest her head on Elizabeth's shoulder. The fact that the snake was on her willingly frightened her a bit. "Is Ciel here? What's happening?"

"Smile's here." He glanced at the window; Elizabeth passed him and pulled it shut, locking it. "He sent me to keep an eye on you. He wants to make sure nothing happened to you. Says Wilde."

"Ciel has no right to do something like that. We're not—Snake, what are you  _carrying_?" she asked, but she'd already recognized the hilts of her swords peeking up over his shoulder. Snake flushed a bit pinker.

"I thought it was a good idea, says Emily. She showed me where you hid them."

"You broke into the Parker house?"

"Smile's breaking in  _here_ ,” he repeated, and he held his hand out to Emily, who transferred from Elizabeth to Snake without a second's thought. "I remembered the  _Campania_ and thought you would do better with them. Says Wilde."

"Oh." Adrenaline was still pumping through her, making her head buzz. She didn't smile, not exactly, but her lips quirked at him. "Thank you, Snake."

The doorknob rattled, and they both stared at it for a split second before Elizabeth seized Snake by the shoulders and shoved him down behind the desk. She heard him hiss something to the snakes, but she'd straightened, and fixed a fake smile on her face as the door opened, and a tall figure slipped inside, hood up, cloak wrapped tight around himself. She cleared her throat. She could feel Snake pressed against her leg, his quick breathing, and wished she could seize one of the swords. She'd feel much better with a sword in her hand. "You're the Director?"

The figure stayed silent for a long moment, head cocked, studying her. Then he spoke, and his voice was light and fluting, almost like a woman's. "That is correct."

"It's good to finally meet you. I'm—"

"Elizabeth Middleford," finished the Director. Down on the floor, Snake let out a breath, and she faked a sigh of her own to cover up the sound. "I've heard much about you from the Parkers."

"Did Felicity tell you I'm a spy yet, or is she waiting for me to make a mistake before claiming she knew it all along?"

"Are you a spy?" the Director asked. "Should I be worried?"

"I'm as loyal to the project as any of the Zodiac."

Soft laughter. The Director shifted, taking a few steps forward into the firelight, and he was shorter than Elizabeth had first thought, maybe a few inches taller than she was, but not by much. His hands were pale, with long pianist's fingers. Other than that, she couldn't see much at all; his old-fashioned cloak hid his face, and pretty much everything else. "Half the men down there would have betrayed us long ago if it hadn't been for Parker keeping them in line."

Elizabeth bit her tongue, and said nothing. She hissed a bit when Emily nudged her ankle, and pulled away from Snake. The Director cocked his head. "Is something the matter, Miss Middleford?"

"I twisted my ankle earlier today at Leith Hill Tower. It's nothing."

"If you are in pain—"

"I would rather stand, thank you."

Stalemate. The Director studied her for a long moment. Then he laughed, a soft chuckle in the dark, and Elizabeth tensed, her hand clenching, ready to slide her dagger down out of her sleeve and fling it at him if she had to. But the Director remained where he was, simply laughing. "You're a funny little thing, aren't you? I can see why Felicity has her doubts. Armed and dangerous—" Elizabeth's eyes widened; the Director ignored her "—a past fiancée to the Queen's Watchdog, sneaking about in places where you shouldn't, according to Petrovsky—what's to keep me from believing you really  _are_ a spy, Miss Middleford?"

She licked her lips. Her mouth had gone drought dry. Next to her, Snake tense, shifting, coiled like a cobra and ready to spring. She dropped her hand down and brushed her fingers over his shoulder in a soft warning, though she was certain both of them could hear her heart pounding in her throat.  _One wrong word, and we're both dead._ Because she didn't doubt the Director was more dangerous than Parker and the rest of the Zodiac combined. "Nothing."

He laughed again. "Come here."

She looped the handle of her bag twice around her wrist—she wasn't about to lose the puzzle box—as she came around the desk, leaving Snake behind. She didn't stop walking until she was right next to the Director. Sweat trickled down her spine, cold as ice, as he reached forward, and pinched her jaw in two iron fingers. Elizabeth jumped. She clenched her hands into fists, keeping absolutely still as he turned her face to the right, and then to the left, silent. She was certain that there were going to be finger-shaped bruises on her face by the time he finally let her go. Eventually, he pulled back, and said, "Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"It's faint, but…" The Director leaned forward, his eyes sharp on her face. He pushed the hood back. It was definitely a man, older than she'd first thought, maybe in his early thirties, but there was something soft and womanish about his face and hands. His black hair was shaggy around his face. He had a widow's peak, and bronze eyes that flickered in the firelight. There was something funny about the pupils. After a moment, he pulled away again. "Never mind. Now—"

The noise erupted from downstairs, like the scream of a banshee, and Elizabeth clapped her hands over her ears. It sounded like scraping your nail against the inside of a china figurine felt; like when she bit into ice wrong and it fractured strange in her mouth, or when she ate something cold and it hit the back of her front teeth and drove bolts of pain through her head. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as the Director darted from the room almost faster than the eye could see, slamming it shut behind him. There was one gunshot, and then two more, and silence reigned once more.

Snake poked his head out from behind the desk as Elizabeth slowly uncovered her ears. The actual snakes were hissing and spitting, vibrating with the force of the sound, and Snake himself looked distinctly green. "My lady—"

"Give me the swords,” she said, and when he blinked at her, her voice turned sharp. "Give them to me, Snake!"

He handed them over, wide-eyed and wordless. Emily hissed again, flaring at Elizabeth as she hooked the belt around her waist. Snake tried the door. "My lady, it's locked—"

She drew the pistol Ciel had given her. "Get out of the way, Snake. And cover your ears."

She drew a deep breath, cupped the base of the handle with her free hand, and emptied three chambers into the lock. Her ears were ringing when she lowered the gun, and tapped at the door with her foot. When it creaked open, wearily, it was difficult for her not to cheer. She glanced down at the gun in her hands, and then offered it to Snake. "Here. Hold this."

"But—"

"I'm not staying in here, Snake. I have just as much right to know what's going on as Ciel does. I'm going downstairs, whether you like it or not. So if you're going to keep an eye on me, I guess you're going to have to come, and I'm not about to let you go downstairs without a weapon." She jerked her hand a bit, and he jumped. "Do you know how to shoot?"

He gave her a long look, his eyes searching her face. Then, gingerly, he reached forward and took the gun from her, holding it at arm's length. "Point and pull the trigger. Says Wilde."

She couldn't help it. She smiled, and in the reflection of the mirror over the library fireplace, she looked startlingly like her mother. Elizabeth crossed back to the desk, seized the bag holding the puzzle box, and shoved it as deep into her pocket as she could. It was a stretch, but it just fit. "Exactly. Come on. If we don't hurry, Ciel will have locked us out, and somehow I don't think bullets are going to work on the basement door."

* * *

 

He'd only seen her for an instant, a pale face peeping over the edge of the balcony before a shriek echoed through the grounds, and she vanished back into the house, but Ciel was certain of it. It was Colleen. A Colleen who had been dressed in something fancy, whose hair had been cut and whose face had filled out, just a bit, but Colleen nevertheless. He lowered his gun, his eyes flicking over the roof. The man had vanished, but not before Ciel had caught a glimpse of his face. "Sebastian, reapers."

"I am aware, my lord," Sebastian said, and a dog whined. When Ciel looked back around, three enormous Alsatians were flat on their bellies in front of Sebastian. The butler's eyes had gone blood-red. "Shall we enter?"

The inside of the manorhouse was dank and cool, like a lake-side cave. He could smell mold behind the wallpaper. There were no servants; that was the first startling thing. Every hallway was silent except for the hiss of the gas lamps. The rooms—the open rooms—were empty too. It was like walking through another world, quiet, set apart from the rest of the country. The Other Side. Ciel kept his pistol extended, glancing back the way they'd come as Sebastian peered around the corner, and said, "The main hall, my lord."

Ciel nodded, and let Sebastian go first. What on  _earth_ was Colleen doing here? When she'd vanished from the Middleford house, he'd simply assumed that the girl had either run off, or that Elizabeth had placed her somewhere to keep her out of sight. Seeing her here, of all places, made no sense at all, not unless…

_Colleen is working with Elizabeth._

Ciel knocked his head against the wall, and swore under his breath.

" _Unauthorized_." The voice was grating and metallic and right behind him. Ciel barely had time to squeak before Sebastian seized him by the collar of his jacket and wrenched him away from the machine. The automata cocked its head to the side, watching them, and he didn't recognize this one; a man, clean shaven, his cheekbones sticking like knife-blades out of his face. " _State your purpose._ "

"We're here to see the Director,” Ciel said. The automata looked at him for a full breath before its jaw clacked open, and an unearthly sound echoed from its throat box. It felt like someone was hammering nails into his ears; Ciel cried out, his voice barely audible over the scream of the automata, and shot it in the throat.

The sound was cut off in an instant. He pulled the trigger again,  _one two,_ and blood sprayed. One of the glass eyes had shattered; the jaw had been torn beyond repair, and instead of a voice there was only a sick clicking noise, like gears working in the back of a clock, as the automata lunged, and its hand had suddenly shifted, into a blade made of steel. Ciel sidestepped it, and the blade dug itself deep into the wall. He aimed, and fired again, and one of the ticks stopped as the automata slumped against the wall. He could see Sebastian out of the corner of his eye, and three more automata, two men and a woman in red, and as three more gunshots echoed from upstairs and Sebastian crushed the two men, Ciel aimed, and fired. The knees on the female automata collapsed. He glanced back the way they'd come—no more, but there would be soon—and reloaded his gun. "Don't kill it, Sebastian. I want to see if it can understand me."

"I doubt it, my lord."

Ciel ignored him. He snapped the revolver closed again, and crouched next to the final automata, the only woman. It stared at him, blankly, no emotion.  _So this is what it means to no longer have your soul._  "Who are you?"

" _Voice not recognized. State name and ranking._ "

"My name is Smile," said Ciel, his eyes flicking up to Sebastian for a moment. "I am an employee of the Director."

A whirring sound. The automata looked at him, scanning, and then her jaw unlocked and she spoke again. " _Acknowledged. To confirm, please state the key code._ "

"Who were you?"

" _State the key code._ "

"When you were alive, who were you? What was your name?"

" _State the key code,”_ the automata said, and if there could be emotion in an emotionless voice, there was one now. Blood pooled around its ravaged knees. " _Or intruders will be destroyed._ "

Ciel crouched there for a moment longer, watching it. Then he shot it in the heart, and the automata buzzed, limbs jerking with electricity, before collapsing against the wall. There was a distinct smell of copper wires and lightning in the air under the blood. He stood and strode past Sebastian without speaking. At least they had some idea where to aim to kill these things, now.

He would have thought the sound of so many gunshots would have brought an army to meet them, but when they entered the main hall, it was empty. Ciel lowered his weapon as Sebastian flexed his fingers. Blood smeared his sleeves up to the elbow. Ciel grimaced. "Don't you have any replacement gloves?"

"Of course, my lord," Sebastian replied, "but if we intend to move forward, it seems foolish to replace them."  _Obviously_. The word lingered, unsaid, but Ciel glared anyway. The manorhouse was silent, now that the four automata had been destroyed; he couldn't hear a single thing.

"Where are they?"

A hiss. Soft. Ciel raised his pistol only to find one of Snake's pets coiling around the banister, head raised, looking irritable. He lowered the weapon as the snake slipped down, and vanished into the dark behind a pillar. He didn't hesitate, but he did keep a wide berth of the very angry viper as he trailed after the snake and found a small opening, barely visible from anywhere in the main hall, tucked into the wall. It was a secret passage, he thought; it explained why the lamp above it was lopsided—when closed, it would fit smoothly into the wall itself. There was no light on the inside. From what little he could tell from out here, it seemed to be a set of stairs.

Snake was being more useful than he'd anticipated. He would have to be careful not to step on the viper as thanks. He pushed the door open wider, trying to cast more light onto the stairwell, but there was very little in the building anyway. They'd have to feel their way down blind.

He really,  _really_ hoped there were no automata standing guard.

It went down in a tight spiral. Ciel kept his hand on the wall, which grew progressively colder as they walked. His eyes improved the deeper down they went, but only slightly. He didn't know how deep it went, either; he had no real perception of time. The only reason he realized they were getting close to the bottom was that the lighting had subtly changed, from black to faint dark grey.

The staircase opened out into a room about as large as a closet. Three more tunnels stretched north, west, and east—or he thought it was north, west, and east, he'd been spun around so many times on the staircase he couldn't tell which was which anymore. He could hear voices now, too, mostly male, snarling to each other. The snake was nowhere to be seen. He glanced back at Sebastian, who was staring at the ceiling, head cocked inquisitively. "Come on."

They took the eastern tunnel, because that was the one that the voices seemed to be echoing from. It took a few minutes for Ciel to realize that the floor was at an angle, going deeper and deeper into the earth. The gaslights flickered on the walls. There were no automata, not anywhere, but the longer they walked, the clearer the voices became. Ciel jumped when the Texan's drawl cut through the dithering, loud enough that Parker could have been standing right behind them. "Shut  _up_ , or I'll shoot you through the head myself, Fotheringhay, and no mistake. So someone's huntin' around upstairs. Doesn't mean much of anything, as far as I can tell."

"But what if—"

"Do you honestly think that whoever's upstairs is still kickin' after the automata sounded the alarm?" There was a dragging sound, and a thump and the rattle of metal pieces. "Besides, even if they  _do_ get down here, we'll be long gone by the time the automata get through with them. So just shut up and wait quietly like a good little boy until the Director gives us the all clear."

"We shouldn't have left him up there."

"The Director can take care of himself." A female voice, but still all Texan. Felicity Parker, he presumed. "He managed for a long time before the automata was even a germ of an idea, so quit whinin', boys. He'll be down soon enough, and then we can go."

On the floor in front of him, something moved. Snake's viper. It didn't look at either Ciel or Sebastian as it passed, vanishing into the dark, back the way they had come. Ciel frowned a little, but ignored the snake; he strained his ears. "—nyway, it's not like we're not equipped to defend ourselves down here."

"Oh, shut up, Beddor, nobody wants to listen to you." A gruff man, one that Ciel didn't recognize. "The question is how long do we even have to stay? If you're right and the Director  _has_ dealt with it—"

"It won't be  _dealt_ with until that bitch is  _dead_ ," said Felicity Parker.

"We're not killing anyone unless the Director orders it." That was Theodore Parker, his voice like iron, and even his sister fell quiet at that one.

"You're only saying that because it's her." The voice was clipped with something that reminded him very much of Tanaka's accent.  _Ryou Shirakawa._  "You have a certain fondness for the Middleford woman, Parker."

"Shut your lyin' mouth before I tear it off your face, Shirakawa,” Parker said, in a low and dangerous voice, and in spite of himself Ciel clenched his hands into fists. Shirakawa muttered something in Japanese. It had been so long since Ciel heard any Japanese—Tanaka spoke it fluently, but rarely did, not since before his parents' deaths—he could barely understand it.  _Gaijin_ stuck out though. Ciel smirked a bit. Shirakawa wasn't being exactly complimentary to his fellow star signs. "We obey the Director. That's it. Full stop. So all of you  _shut your mouths_  and just wait for him to get down here."

There was going to be nothing else. Ciel stepped away from the wall, and started back along the corridor, checking once or twice to make sure Sebastian was actually following him rather than lingering to sniff after the scent of burned spices.  _Soul cutting._  There were automata down here, no mistake. He kept his hand tight on his gun.

They were nearly back at the staircase when he heard it. Crunching gravel. The ticking of the automata. Steel glancing off steel, a great metallic shriek, and there was no hesitation; he sped up, breaking from a walk to a jog to a run, and Sebastian was right beside him as he rounded the corner, gun raised.

Spiders. Everywhere. Mechanical spiders, the size of his fists put together, and one of them clicked its way up his leg before he flung it off his boot and into the nearest wall. There must have been dozens of them, and he only had a split second to wonder where they'd come from before he saw the monstrosities, and his gun went slippery in his hands.  _Enormous_ spiders, with human torsos, heads and arms and faces, their eyes glowing through the glass.

They hadn't noticed him yet, or Sebastian. They were clustered around the western tunnel, peering in, and there was a gunshot from inside; one of the spiders stumbled back, blood pouring down from its shoulder. It gave a great hiss and lunged for the tunnel, but with its legs, it was too big to reach inside.

Someone screamed. Colleen whirled out from the northern tunnel like a dervish, her dress torn, blood streaking down her face from a cut on her forehead, and she was carrying a fan that Ciel almost recognized. Blades extended from the fragile lace, long and lethal, and she slashed at the nearest spider-human before vanishing into the dark once more.

From the western tunnel, there was a great loud crack, and half a dozen of the littler ones went flying, sparks spiraling away into the thin air. More sparks from the western tunnel, and he thought he heard the hissing of a viper over the mechanical roar of the spider-humans. There was an accompanying shriek, terror-filled, and then he caught a flash of blonde hair. " _Get away from me,_ you horrid, disgusting, filthy, stupid little—"

"Sebastian, get them out of here!" Ciel raised his gun and fired, and then there was a hole in the back of the nearest monster's head. It turned to look at him, and its lips peeled back from its needle-teeth as it clicked around and came at him. He fired again, through the heart, and it crashed to the ground, legs twitching in a macabre mockery of the automata woman upstairs. Fist-sized spiders skittered up his shoes and onto his clothes, snapping and biting, and his next shot went wild as he shook them off, trying to ignore the sudden throb of blood and pain on his legs. He shot again, at the third monster, and a dark spot appeared, like an Indian woman's bindi, on the left-hand side of its forehead. It screamed, and the sound was just like the one the automata upstairs had made; it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and his ears were wailing in pain as he swept the spiders off him, trying to get them away. He fired again and again, emptying the gun, but the sound didn't stop until a dark shape flashed past him, and Sebastian drove his hand right through the creature's heart.

The sound ceased. Something hot and wet was leaking down his neck; when he set his fingers against his earlobe, they came away dark. His ears were bleeding. The legs twitched one final time, and then the last spider-monster crashed to the floor, and stones rattled down from the ceiling like rain. The smaller spiders scattered, heading back down the tunnels, and Ciel kicked them off his boots as they fled back down the northern tunnel. Colleen hopped over them as best she could, and by the time she'd made it back into the central chamber, all the spiders were gone.

Sebastian stepped away from the body, his shoes clicking against the ground as he shook his hands. Blood spattered the stone walls. Colleen stared at him for a long breathless moment before she shifted warily to the left, and tucked herself away into the western tunnel. There was a burst of soft voices, and Ciel had to clench his hands into fists to keep from heading there himself.  _You've broken the engagement. You have no right to care._

Snake emerged from the hole, carrying a small pistol in one hand, his hair a bright beacon in the cave. The viper who had led them downstairs was curled around his throat, nuzzling his ear. "Smile."

"Snake." Ciel dabbed at his ears absently with his handkerchief as Sebastian pulled his stained gloves off, tossing them away into the corner, and wiping his hands clean on the fabric of his pants. "How long have you been down here?"

"Not long. We ducked into the tunnel in order to avoid the Parkers, says Wilde." The snake hissed in Ciel's direction. "And we found something interesting, my lord."

Ciel thought of Ronald Knox, darting preternaturally fast out of sight.  _We found something interesting too._  "We don't have a lot of time. Sound carries in these tunnels. They'll have heard all that, for certain."

There was a crack of a slap, and Elizabeth swore, loudly, with a word that even Ciel had only heard once or twice. Probably something she'd picked up from Colleen. He forced his eyes away from the opening of the tunnel, and added, "And I, for one, don't want to waste more time on dead things."

"Well then," said Elizabeth, as she pulled away from Colleen and limped out into the central chamber. There was a bruise swelling on her cheekbone, and she was carrying her blades, long and wicked thin in soft light from the gas lamps. "Since you seem to have all the bullets, we'll come along with you, shall we?"

Then she saw who she was talking to, and froze. All the blood drained from her face. Colleen pinched her upper arm, but she didn't react. She was staring at Ciel, and Ciel was staring at her, suddenly unable to speak. It struck him very suddenly that both her swords were coated to the hilt in blood. There was more streaked across her face, along with tears, probably from being surrounded by spiders, and a little voice whispered in the back of his mind.  _You meant to keep her out of all this. Didn't you?_

_Shut up._

Elizabeth suddenly realized she was staring, cleared her throat, and looked away. Blood ran down her swords and dripped to the ground in tiny pools. Ciel snapped himself out of it too, forcing himself to think. If what Shirakawa said was true, and Parker did fancy Elizabeth, then there was a chance she could distract him long enough for them to get a chance at the Director. He swallowed back his objections, ignoring the sick feeling they made in his stomach, and said, "Fine. But if you slow us down, we leave you behind."

"Fine,” she snapped back, and her voice was thin and reedy. Her eyes burned in her face. "Go on, then. Where to now, fearless leader?"

"That's my question, Phantomhive." The voice was soft, almost feminine. Ciel whipped around, lifting his pistol. So did Snake. Elizabeth raised her swords, Colleen flicked the bladed fan free once more, and Sebastian stood there, cool and still, resting his weight on the balls of his feet the way he did when he was about to explode into motion. The cloaked man on the stairs just looked at them for a moment, and the clicking shuffle of the automata began to echo in all three tunnels. They were surrounded. "Just where exactly are you planning to go?"


	19. His Cousin, Captured

They took her swords.

They took her swords, and they took the bag from her pocket with the Chinese puzzle box (they didn't look inside, thank God, otherwise they probably would have slit her throat right there for stealing as well as betrayal). They took the pistol she'd loaned to Snake, and they blindfolded her as they led her down the northern tunnel, the one she and Colleen hadn't had a chance to investigate before the spiders had poured down from the ceiling and the three automata had broken open to create the monstrosities.

She hadn't been able to do much at all, faced with those things, and the all-consuming fear still haunted her as they dragged her along, not caring if she tripped. She'd stumbled back and hit the wall and slid down it, because she could handle automata fine, she could destroy automata just like she'd destroyed the Bizarre Dolls on the  _Campania_ , but in the face of eight-legged creatures whose bites burned like fire, she couldn't move. Snake had left Emily to circle her as Wilde led Ciel and Sebastian back; for some reason, the spiders hadn't been interested in the snakes.

Her legs were throbbing from the bites when they shoved her into a chair and strapped her hands down. They tied her legs down too, and injected her with something that burned like oil in her veins. Elizabeth cried out, and thrashed as the burning spread, but the leather straps held her down, and when it finally ceased, she was sobbing like a child in a way that she hadn't done since before Ciel had broken the engagement, but the bites hurt less. Someone tore the blindfold off. Felicity. Her mismatched eyes, one brown and glass, one blue and real, stared into Elizabeth's. "Not so proud now, are you?"

Elizabeth said nothing, only stared at her, and after a moment, Felicity patted her cheek and straightened. The girl had changed clothes, in the time it had taken for the drug to wind its way around Elizabeth's system. She was in loose pants, now, something entirely foreign to Elizabeth; she could hear the buzzing clicking of mechanics, and she wondered what she would see if she sliced through the cloth to look underneath. Would it be skin, like the automata, or pure metal and wiring, like the spider-people?

Her stomach rolled a bit. Elizabeth looked away.

Ciel stared back at her, bound in a chair of his own. Colleen was between them, her head lolling back, still twitching from the effects of the injection. Sebastian and Snake were nowhere to be seen. Her heart started to pound and her whole body went numb, all at once. Elizabeth looked away from him, too, to glare over Felicity's head at the ceiling. It was low and sloping; she could have touched it with her hand if she'd been standing.

"It's funny though, because for a little while I think we all believed you." Felicity slid back onto the table, crossing her legs, watching Elizabeth. "Until you rejected Theo, anyway, because if you  _really_ had meant anything with the flirting, you wouldn't have. There were little red flags before that, of course, but the rejection, that was the clincher."

Elizabeth licked her lips. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Theodore? Somewhere nearby, I guess." She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Talkin' with the Director, probably. They left me t'keep an eye on you while they figure out what to do."

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Ciel stiffen. He narrowed his one visible eye, and stared at Felicity, and she could almost see the cogs ticking in his brain, whirring like a crazed merry-go-round. Felicity didn't notice, or if she did, she didn't much care. She tapped Elizabeth's cheek with her long nails. "You know, my brother cared about you. So for you to choose the Watchdog, after everything…well, that stung."

It was Elizabeth's turn to stiffen. She most definitely did not look at Ciel as she said, "I didn't choose the Watchdog over Theodore. That wasn't the reason why."

"Oh?"

Venom coiled in her throat, and for the first time since she'd started talking to the Zodiac, she told the truth. "I pushed him away because I couldn't stand to be kissing someone who tears people's hearts out for a living."

Felicity slapped her. It felt like someone had just taken a bat to her jaw. Elizabeth whined. The injection was making everything sting, amplifying every touch, but it wasn't just that; Felicity had put her full weight behind the blow, and the weight of a human mixed with machine was a lot more than she was used to. When the buzzing faded from her ears, she heard Ciel jerk his chair and swearing under his breath. She worked her jaw, slowly, hoping it wasn't broken, as Felicity snapped, "Shut up, Phantomhive. I'm not going to break her."

Ciel snarled something uncomplimentary. Elizabeth glared at Felicity, refusing to look in her cousin's direction. "Shut up, Ciel."

To her surprise, he shut up.

"You don't want to break me?" She lifted her eyebrows, daring Felicity to do something, putting as much anger and mockery as she could into her voice so that the humiliation of being captured stung a little less. "That's not what you told me earlier."

"Oh, believe me, I'd enjoy breaking you." Felicity smiled a bit. "But the Director has to chat with you three a bit first."

"So the murderers are covering their tracks, then," Elizabeth said. It hurt to talk. Her mouth was throbbing. Felicity straightened, and scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We're not murderers. You don't understand. This is the only way."

"The only way to what?" Ciel asked, mildly, as though this was all a garden party and Felicity had just commented on the state of the weather. Under control again, then. They both turned to look at him, Felicity shocked, Elizabeth bleeding. "The mass destruction of the London poor?"

"The London poor don't have anything to do with it." Felicity sniffed, and turned back to Elizabeth. "You are a selfish little bitch. And  _you_ ," she said, rounding on Ciel, "you're nothing but a delusional child. Bit smarter than we gave you credit for, maybe, but still…just a kid. Neither of you get it. You don't understand what we're tryin' to do. If you did, you wouldn't be trying to stop us."

"That's something I've been wondering for a while, actually,” Ciel said, and he lifted both eyebrows in a question. "If you're not trying to create your own personal army—"

"Lord no!" Felicity said, and laughed.

"—then what  _are_ you trying to do?"

"You think I'm tellin' you that after everything? You're stupider than I thought,” Felicity said. "I'm no turncoat."

"But you set William Bardroy free, didn't you?" Ciel said, and Felicity went so still so fast that for a second, she seemed to be frozen in time. Elizabeth's eyes snapped to Ciel.  _Bard? What does Bard have to do with any of this?_  "Interesting choice for someone such as you to make, don't you think, if you're so proud of your loyalty to the Zodiac."

Felicity took a breath. And then another. Her lips barely moved. "How do you know about that?"

"I may be stupider than you think, but I have my ways of ferreting things out," said Ciel, and there it was, the Phantomhive smile, the one that said,  _I'm smarter than you, I know the rules much better than you, and I just turned the whole game around. So just try and beat me now._  "So tell me, Miss Parker, if the Zodiac means so much to you, why set free a prisoner they'd gone to great trouble to keep?"

"You didn't answer my question," Felicity said, and she crossed the room faster than Elizabeth would have believed possible. She seized Ciel by the wrists, leaning forward, putting their faces so close together their noses nearly brushed. " _How do you know about that_?"

"Because,” Ciel said, without flinching. "Bard works for me."

Felicity staggered back, her face stark white. "No. You're lying. He said—"

"He said he'd done nothing, and that was true." Ciel blew at his bangs. "The only thing he'd done that night was take us to the edge of the Thames. He was waiting for us to return when your men jumped him. Until you people took him, he had no idea about the Zodiac, no idea about what we were investigating, and he probably never  _would_ have known if you hadn't forced my hand with the entire kidnapping business. In this case, he was as innocent in this affair as you are, Miss Parker."

Felicity stared at him, her eyes going wide. She licked her lips. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know where the Zodiac gets these bodies for transformation?"

"Graveyards." She answered so quickly that it had to have been automatic, shaking her head a little bit at the question. "They get them from graveyards. Steal them from funeral parlors. They have to be fresh bodies otherwise the hearts won't take. Why?"

"Do you ever see the operations?"

"Of course not. That's Mr. Shirakawa's job, and Mr. Petrovsky's. Theo sits in sometimes. He told me."

Colleen moaned, and began to stir. Elizabeth jerked her wrists against the leather bands, but they were tied tight, and they'd taken her dagger from in her sleeve.  _Well and truly stuck, Miss Lizzy, that's for certs._  Ciel laughed, low and cold.

"Your brother's been lying to you, Miss Parker. They've all been lying to you. You know where they get the bodies? They take them. From the whorehouses and the workhouses, off the street and from the alleyways. They steal men and women, inject them with a concoction made with opium, weaken their defenses, and then, somehow, they steal their souls, replace their hearts with clockwork, and turn them into living machines."

Felicity seized the edge of the table and clung on.

"They're alive when it happens, Miss Parker." Ciel's voice was as soft as a shadow and just as black. "They're awake. They have to be, for the extraction to take place. They're caught somewhere between alive and dead and they  _feel_ it as their soul is ripped away by that Director of yours. If they feel like it, they cut people up to see how they work, too. Did your brother ever tell you  _that_?"

"Shut up,” Felicity whimpered. "You're lying."

"I'm telling the truth, Miss Parker, nothing but the truth. Go ask your brother yourself. See if he's as good a liar as he thinks he is."

Felicity looked at him, her eyes flicking over his face, searching for something. Elizabeth was watching him too, and there was a flickering in Ciel's eyes that she'd always associated with his cold anger. The hot stuff wore off eventually, you could just wait it out, but the cold anger…that was a blizzard that you just had to deal with. Felicity must have seen something there too, because she stepped back, swallowed hard, and marched out of the room as Colleen opened her eyes and moaned.

Elizabeth leaned her head towards her. "Are you all right?"

"Feel like I've been stung by a hornet's nest, but I'll live." She jerked her wrists. "What the hell—"

"The injection's good for you,” Ciel said, through gritted teeth, and he leaned his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes. "There was venom in those spiders. The injection was an antidote. Bard told me about it."

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. For an instant, she thought she felt the spiders crawling all over her again, their fangs clicking, clicking, clicking, and she almost vomited. "Bard…they used the spiders on him?"

"No. Beetles." He snarled something under his breath and added, "I really hope we won't have to steal more of it. I'm not fond of the idea of taking a tonic every day."

Her whole body ached. Elizabeth took a slow breath and let it out. And then she remembered she was talking to Ciel, and she closed her mouth so fast it clicked. It would have been easier, she reasoned, if she had been able to pretend it was someone else—Edward maybe. That was what she'd done in the central chamber. She hadn't even looked him in the face until now, and through some miracle, she'd managed to ignore Sebastian.

Sebastian. Where had he disappeared to? Why hadn't he attacked the other automata? He could have destroyed them, she was certain of it, the same way he'd destroyed the Bizarre Dolls on the  _Campania_ , but he hadn't lifted a finger. Neither he nor Ciel had done a single damn thing, not to the Director, not to any of the automata, and not to any of the Zodiac either when they'd appeared.

Finally, she let herself look at him, out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't wearing a cap any longer—that had vanished somewhere in the tunnels—and his hair was dangling over his eyes as he leaned forward, studying the cuffs on his wrists, tugging absently at the leather. He looked…older, she realized, startled. Thinner. Like a knife that had been sharpened too many times. There were rings under his eyes. Elizabeth frowned. In the month and a half since she'd last seen him, life hadn't been treating him well.

 _Life hasn't been treating any of us very well._  She thought, uncharitably, and rubbed the spot where the engagement ring used to be, looking away from him.

They were planning something. That was definite. What, exactly, was more out of reach.

"You tried to shoot me," Colleen said suddenly, and both Ciel and Elizabeth looked at her, Elizabeth with wide eyes, Ciel with a scowl.

"Don't be ridiculous, Colleen."

"You pointed a gun at me and everything."

"I thought you were someone else." He changed the subject. "If either of you have a brilliant idea to get out of here, I suggest you implement it now. Sebastian will be here soon, but I'd planned to at least be halfway out of containment by then."

Elizabeth looked away. She couldn't force herself to speak. She couldn't find the words. Colleen studied her for a long moment before rounding on Ciel again. "Shut up, Phantomhive."

Ciel sputtered a bit, and scoffed. "What gives you the—"

"Nobody's given me any pus-rotting  _right_ t'talk to you like that, Watchdog, but it doesn't mean I ain't goin' to,” Colleen snapped back, and she'd dropped right back into the streets, lengthening her vowels and squashing her consonants together. "If you'd just come out of your own downy world and—"

"Colleen. Leave it."

Colleen twisted around to look at Elizabeth now, her lips pursed like she was sucking a lemon. "But—"

"Just leave it. Please."

Ciel's eyes flicked from Colleen to Elizabeth, annoyed. Colleen sighed. "Fine."

"Thank you." Elizabeth swallowed, keeping her eyes firmly  _away_ from Ciel's side of the room. It felt like acid going down. Then she straightened up, and tugged at the bindings around her wrists. They were strapped down tight; if she bent forward, she could barely see a button on the underside of the chair arm, but there was no way she was going to be able to reach it. The straps around her legs were probably the same. At least it was leather, and not metal—but with metal, they wouldn't have been able to strap it down tighter, and with leather they could. So she wasn't sure which one would have been worse anymore.

They hadn't been stupid enough to leave her swords in here. Her bag, though,  _was_ there, squatting on one of the chairs around the mechanic's worktable. It looked like the Chinese puzzle box was still inside. She took a deep breath slowly through her nose as relief spread through her. At least they hadn't taken that from her, too. Of course, the chances of her surviving long enough to return it to Lau had dipped depressingly low. Felicity would be back soon, probably with other members of the Zodiac—maybe even the Director—with her, and unless they let Elizabeth go before trying to kill her, she couldn't see any other way out of the chair.

 _Damn it._  Tears welled in her eyes, and even when she bit her tongue to push them back, they kept coming.  _Damn it, damn it, damn it._  When had she become so  _sloppy_? How many times had Papa taught her about how to do this sort of thing; how many times had her mother told her, instructed her, lectured her on how exactly to lie without it showing in her face? How many times had Frances groaned over the fact that Elizabeth simply could not tell a lie? Not with any sort of convincing expression, anyway. She had to slip in little lies, ones that she told without anybody looking at her, and it was only in the past few months, when Papa had whisked her away to the continent for day-in, day-out training—training that she herself had eventually begun to demand—that she'd improved enough to lie to Theodore Parker's face. But she'd been sloppy enough to be caught  _now_? When everything was happening and she'd found Lau's puzzle box and life had finally started to be…well, not normal, not by any stretch or twist of the word, but  _bearable_?

"Lizzy." It was Ciel. He craned his neck to look at her. "You—are you crying?"

"No." She sniffed, and wished she could wipe the damn tears off her face. "I'm frustrated. Not that it's  _any_ of your business, my lord Phantomhive. You've made  _that—_ " Her voice broke on the word "—clear enough for both of us."

Ciel flinched a bit, and there was a sick lurching in her stomach, regret and triumph both. Elizabeth sniffed again, trying to keep her nose from running. "I shouldn't have pulled you into this, Colleen, I'm sorry."

"Don't you start," said Colleen darkly. "Would it've been better f'r you to bring Paula along?"

In spite of herself, Elizabeth laughed a bit. Immediately, she felt bad for it, but the image of Paula in this situation was just so mind-boggling, it was impossible  _not_ to laugh. "…probably not."

"Well, then." Colleen jerked her wrists, and hissed a bit when it did nothing, spitting out a word that Colleen Middleford, shy and retiring Irish cousin, should have never heard or even imagined existed. "Tied it down tight enough, didn't they? Can't feel my fingers."

Elizabeth's hands weren't going numb, but they had pins and needles all through her skin. She gritted her teeth against the loss of circulation, and jerked in her chair. With a soft moaning sound, it moved; not nailed to the floor, then. She jerked again, wondering if there was anything sharp on the mechanic's worktable, when the door opened.

"Mr. Cutter,” Colleen said, with sweet venom. "Poisoned any whores lately?"

Cutter's eyes flickered to Colleen, and narrowed. Slowly, understanding dawned. "You…I know you."

"Took you long enough, you flat mumper. Y'granny me yet or no?" She put on a funny little voice, high-pitched and sickly sweet. " _Y'want me on my knees, milord? What's that, milord? What're you doin' with that, milord?_  Ever bother t'learn their names, Cutter? Didn't matter to you, did it, you just wanted to poison 'em and be on your merry way."

Cutter stared, as though he'd never seen anything more horrifying than Colleen. She tossed her hair, and kept with it, her voice low and fierce and dangerous. "Y'like your ladybirds blonde, don't you, Cutter? 's why you took Mol, innit?  _An'_  Rose, she were blonde too, wasn't she, like little Miss Fee in there—y'have a secret, Cutter? Want to share, nancyboy?"

He moved fast. Cutter balled up his fist and punched Colleen, and she coughed. Elizabeth made a noise that could have been called a scream, if it hadn't been so filled with fury. "Don't you  _touch_ her!"

Cutter ignored her. He grabbed Colleen's chair, and wrenched her forward, in an eerie, unknowing mockery of Felicity and Ciel; this time, when he came close though, Colleen spat in his face, and red spattered his nose. He reared back with an exclamation, and she grinned at him. There was blood on her teeth.

"I'm gonna kill you, Cutter,” she said, short and simple, chillingly cold. "I'm going to tear you apart. You just wait, lad. Don't matter where you go, don't matter what you do, I'll find you, and when I do, you're gonna wish you stayed away from the Fenchurch Abbey girls. You hear me?"

"Cutter." All the blood drained from Cutter's face, and he turned, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe Colleen's spit off him. "Have you been playing with our dear new friends?"

It was the Director. He'd finally taken off the stupid cloak, too. Felicity stood behind him, her lips pressed tight together, and her eyes wandered to Ciel for a moment before she looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek. Theodore was there too. He kept his eyes on the wall, drumming his fingers against the head of his walking stick, and Elizabeth watched him for a long moment before flicking her eyes back to the Director. "I've been learning the most  _interesting_ things about you three in the past half an hour. Do you know, it's been a very long time since I've dealt with spies. This is going to be fun."

"Interesting idea of fun," Ciel muttered under his breath. The Director turned, and cocked his head at him, a smile flickering on his lips.

"So  _you're_ the boy with the contract. I was wondering when I would meet you."

Ciel's eye went so wide she could see white all around his pupil; all the blood drained from his face, as though someone had sucked it away with a straw. His hands clenched into fists on the arms of the chair, the bones of his knuckles shining like half-moons through his pale skin. At the same time, Theodore—Parker, she corrected herself, it had to be Parker now—stiffened, and his eyes jumped from Ciel to the Director, widening just slightly. When Ciel finally spoke, his voice was low and rough. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, darling," said the Director. "You're among friends here. You can tell the whole truth for once."

Ciel gritted his teeth, and looked away. Elizabeth sat in the chair, digging her nails into the wood, and watched him.  _Contract?_

"Ah, but you haven't told your lovely little cousin yet?" The Director laughed. "This  _will_ be interesting. Do you know, I haven't seen your  _butler—_ " He spat the word out, voice dripping with sarcasm "—in many, many long years. I have you to thank for bringing him back to this world again, so thank you, my dear. You've solved a great many problems for me."

"Shut up,” Ciel said, and Parker started forward.

"Don't you  _dare—_ "

"Theo." Parker stopped, glancing back at the Director. "Two wrongs don't make a right. If our guest is rude, well, then that is simply the way of things, you see?" He smiled, crossed the room, and took a place by Ciel's chair, tracing his fingers over the back of it. "Of course, if he's rude again, you may do as you like. I don't care."

"Define 'rude'," said Ciel. Parker scowled at him.

"Just keep your goddamn mouth shut, boy."

"So  _bitter_ , Mr. Parker." Ciel's mouth creased in a half-smile. "Don't tell me—Elizabeth broke your heart. It's a surprising new talent of hers. I never would have thought it of her before a few weeks ago."

Parker clenched his hands into fists, and said nothing. Felicity cleared her throat. "I thought they were here to be judged, Director, not played with."

"You're quite right, my dear." The Director swooped in on Felicity, wrapping an arm around her neck and kissing her forehead, lightly. She let him do it, her hand fisting in his coat jacket, but she didn't smile. "Though judgment seems a bit hasty, don't you think?"

"They  _betrayed us_ , Director!"

"True." His eyes flickered to Colleen. "That one has a soul like fire, Felicity, can't you see it? Like lightning. Made of pure vengeance."

Colleen goggled. "You're not talkin' about me."

"Her?" Felicity frowned. "But she's nothin' but a fancy woman."

"So was Mary Magdalene, my dear. That didn't keep her from being saved."

Elizabeth's mind was spinning. It was official. She had absolutely  _no idea_ what any of them were talking about anymore.  _The Director knows Sebastian?_  That in and of itself was mindboggling enough, but souls like lightning?  _Judgment_? "You're all mad."

"Stones in glass houses, Miss Elizabeth," the Director said slyly. "You're mad enough yourself, a pretty young woman like you working with the Queen's Watchdog. Don't you think?"

Elizabeth bit her tongue. The Director cocked his head at her, and then clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Poor thing, all ragged and torn. Broken to pieces. You're too innocent for this sort of work, dear."

"You don't know how innocent I am,” Elizabeth snapped.

"On the contrary, my dear. You can't even lie. Do you think someone like you could be capable of working with the devil? You may have wormed your way in here, but you did it out of good intentions, did you not? Well, that and to heal your broken heart, but that can't be healed by this sort of thing, darling, it really can't. You must turn to God for that one."

"Since when has God ever helped anyone?"

The Director turned back to Ciel, and when he smiled, his eyes flared with something she couldn't identify. "You'd be surprised, my lord Phantomhive. You'd be very surprised indeed."

Silence reigned for an unending moment. Then the Director straightened, and said, "Bring the Irish girl. She can take the room next to the scaled monstrosity. Maybe the color of her soul will rub off on it, just a bit."

"Where's Sebastian?" Ciel asked, and the Director smiled again.

"If you're looking for a rescue, my lord, don't be. Latin and holy water can do incredible things to demons, you know."

If Ciel had gone white before, that was nothing to the color he turned now. He was so pale, he looked almost sick, and his hands had gone slack. Elizabeth jerked in her chair as Theodore and Felicity marched forward, untying Colleen and dragging her up out of the chair. She fought, shrieking, until Theodore forced her back and smacked her head into the wood, and then she fell limp. Elizabeth shrieked her name, but there was no response.

"See you in the morning, my dears," said the Director, and this time, when he closed the door, they were plunged into darkness, and this time, Elizabeth didn't try to stop her tears.


	20. His Cousin, Uncompromising

Ciel had absolutely no idea what time it was. It had been a few hours since the door had been closed and the light had been taken away, he was sure of that, but as to how many, or whether or not it was getting to be lighter above ground, he had no clue. It had been at least a few hours since they'd been brought down here; if his watch had been correct, and they'd broken in to the mansion at about eleven-thirty, that made it two or three in the morning by this time. If the Zodiac was going to come back at dawn, then they only had two or three more hours before death.

It wasn't exactly an inspiring thought. He'd reconciled himself with his own death a very long time ago, back in the cage when he'd thought he was going to die every day. When Sebastian had offered him the deal, pulled him out of there, slaughtered them all, that feeling hadn't left him. Not because he thought Sebastian would turn on him before the deal was over, but because he knew that  _when_ the deal was over, he was going to lose his soul. Become like one of these automata, with their blank staring eyes made of glass. He wasn't sure if he was going to die, if Sebastian took his soul, but he knew he would be gone, in every essence of the word. He would no longer exist.

It was a lot to think about, especially in the dark, tied to a chair, with his demon locked up behind Latin and holy water. The fact that Sebastian was trapped put an enormous crimp in his plans. Ciel had absolutely no intention of dying tonight, or tomorrow, come to think of it. He also had no intention of allowing Elizabeth to die, either, or Snake, or anyone else who'd been captured with them. He was certain that Sebastian would probably be all right, once he was freed from the holy water prison— _how had he known to do that, anyway?_ —so he wasn't as concerned about his life as he was the others. Besides, Sebastian could revive himself easily. He'd proven that a dozen times over in this line of work.

He could have jerked his chair, somehow, over to the worktable, but with no lights, it would be impossible to find a tool to wrench the leather straps away—and besides, he had no hands to grab the tool with anyway. So that was out. He'd been tugging at the straps, on and off, for the past two hours, and they hadn't budged a bit. The only reason his hands hadn't gone completely numb was because he kept curling them into fists to keep the blood flowing as best he could. There was no hope for his feet. They'd gone pretty much dead a while ago. Which was probably bad.

 _How had the Director known about the contract?_  He'd gone over everything he'd done in this case, everything he'd ever said to any of the Zodiac (which was very little) and there was absolutely no way the Director could have found out about the contract if he hadn't already known about it before Ciel had even started investigating. And Ciel was  _very_ careful about the information. He thought only the reapers knew, outside of Sebastian and himself, and the reapers kept to themselves.  _Though if there's a rogue pulling out souls, that would explain so very much._  Maybe not Undertaker, but someone else. The reapers had already proven themselves to be less than obedient on occasion—Grell was the case in point, with his experimentation with Madame Red.

He paused, closing his eyes against the memories, and then went back to thinking.

To be honest, though, the fact that the Director knew about his contract with Sebastian concerned him less than the fact that the man seemed willing to talk about it in front of everyone, including Elizabeth. She hadn't said a word since the door had been shut, and she had stopped crying hours ago; she was just breathing now, probably thinking just as he was, and he wasn't about to talk to her. He hadn't quite worked up the arrogant shield he was going to need in order to spit out words. It was the last thing, the absolute last thing, he'd wanted her to even think about, because Elizabeth was the very last person in the world he would have had know about the fate of his soul.

"They're going to kill us, aren't they."

Her voice made him jump. Ciel looked in the direction he thought she could have been—he still couldn't see anything—and cleared his throat before he managed to say, in a light, airy voice, "Probably. If they feel like it."

"I thought so." She sighed, and said nothing more for a long moment. Ciel had gone back to thinking—talking to Elizabeth was awkward, to say the least—when she added, "I didn't think I would die like this."

It was a curious thing to say, because it meant Elizabeth had been thinking about her own death. That disturbed him, just a little. "What did you think it would be like?"

"I would be much older, first of all," she quipped, and in spite of everything, his mouth quirked a bit. "Or if I wasn't much older I'd at least be able to fight for it." There was a soft sound, and she snatched a breath. " _Ow_."

"What?"

"You try getting slapped by a half-machine, see how  _your_ face feels." She'd gone grouchy; he could almost hear the scowl in her voice. "Not that it's any of your business."

"You're the one who started this conversation."

"Oh, for God's sake. Is this what we're going to do in our final hours? Fight  _again_?" There was a squealing noise; she'd wrenched her chair somewhere, heading in some direction he couldn't see. "Don't test me, Ciel, because I really,  _really_ do  _not_ like you a single bit at the moment."

"What are you even doing here, Elizabeth?" he asked, as the chair squealed again and she scooted further and further away. "I thought you were in London."

"Just because you  _ruined my life_ does not mean I'm going to stop trying to do the right  _thing_ ," she said, and her jaw must have been clenched together because there was no way the words would have sounded that squashed otherwise. Another scream of the chair against the ground, and then she yelped; she must have hit something. "Blast it!"

"What are you even doing?"

"I'm not about to go out without a fight,” she snapped, and there was a clattering noise. Something metal had moved. "I know there's a sharp edge around here somewhere."

"How are you going to use it, again? You can't use your hands."

"You have no idea how much I do  _not_ want to hear your voice right now. So just…make it easier for the both of us and shut up, my lord. Because if there's one thing worse than being stuck in a chair waiting for dawn so I can be shot or maimed or whatever the bloody hell they're going to do to me, it would be stuck in a chair waiting for dawn with  _you_ here too."

He didn't have a single thing to say to that. He wished he could see the expression on her face.  _Well, you've done it_ , said the nasty little voice in his head.  _You've done it. You have what you wanted. You've made her hate you. Isn't it wonderful?_

 _Shut up_ , he told the voice, because he didn't need to start second-guessing himself, not now, not ever. He kept quiet, listening to Elizabeth's chair as it screeched its way across the floor. It stopped after a few minutes, and silence fell again, like a heavy blanket. Eventually, Elizabeth said, in a monotone voice, "Can I ask you something, my lord?"

Ciel frowned, and clenched and relaxed his hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. "What is it?"

"I have absolutely no expectation for you to tell me the truth about this, but…" She took a breath. "What you wrote in the letter. When you said I was…an inept bungler. That I'm just useless, and in the way. Did you mean that? Or were you just writing something to push me away for good?"

He said nothing. What could he say? He stayed quiet for so long that that actually became his answer; he couldn't say yes or no to either option, because to say that he really did think her an inept bungler meant that she would probably never speak to him again, and to say that he had been shamming in order to get her out of it all meant she would probably walk right back into this life after this was all over. The little voice in the back of his head whispered,  _Do you think she'll ever stop, after this, no matter what you say?_  but he shook that away too. She was right. What Elizabeth did now was no longer any of his business

"I see,” she said, and her voice had turned brittle. "I swear to God, Ciel, if I wasn't tied down right now I would murder you."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"For someone intelligent enough to be the Queen's Watchdog, you really can be irrevocably stupid,” she snapped. "Don't think you can lie to me, Ciel Phantomhive. I've known you for over a decade, since we could barely talk. I know when you lie. I can hear it in your voice, I can hear it in your silence. You've been lying so much since you came back after…" Pause. "You lie all the time, and you're destroying yourself. Don't you see that?"

 _I'm already destroyed_ , he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue and kept quiet. Elizabeth kept talking. "But in a way, I…I almost have to thank you. For breaking the engagement. You destroyed me, doing that, but that me…I don't think that was  _me_. I can finally figure out who  _I_ am, separate from you, and for that I guess….I guess I have to say thank you."

If there was anything he'd expected her to say, it wasn't that. She'd stopped wrenching her chair. Ciel stared where he thought she might be, and wondered about her expression. Elizabeth was so incredibly easy to read; her whole being was painted on the canvas of her face, for the entire world to see. Something inside him twisted up, like a watch wound too tightly. Words were pressing at the inside of his lips. "Elizabeth—"

The door screamed open, and light spattered across the floor for the barest instant as a dark figure slipped through the gap. Male. That was the only thing he could see before the door shut again, and Ciel took a breath. "Who's there?"

"Well, fancy seeing you here, my lord! All tied up with no place to go."

Ciel bit back a groan. Of course it was him. He hadn't imagined seeing a reaper here after all. "You're not here because of that list of yours, are you? Because I'm already having a very bad day."

"Oh, hush." There was the snap of a match, a flare of sulfur, and then Ronald Knox grinned at him, his pupils going wide in the sudden light. His eyes flickered to Elizabeth, and went even wider. "Well, hello there! What's a beautiful creature like you doing locked up in the dark? It's a travesty."

Elizabeth blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Pardon my rudeness, madam, but I was so overcome I couldn't help myself." He bowed. "My name is Ronald Knox. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Oh." Elizabeth was  _very_ confused now, but her eyes slid to Ciel and there was hope in them for the first time in hours. Then she realized what she'd done, cleared her throat, and looked away. "Have you come to set us free?"

"You  _better_  have," Ciel muttered, irritable for some reason. Knox laughed a bit.

"What do you take me for? I don't reap souls who aren't on the list. If I leave you here, you'll starve to death, and really, my lord Phantomhive, that is not the way you want to go. It's like your bones slice you apart from the inside out." The match died; he struck another one, and lit the nearest candle, casting pale light over it all. "Ergo, here I come to help you. If William was here with me instead of supervising from the sidelines, I wouldn't have managed to get anywhere near this place. He's a bit of a stickler for protocol, is William. Believe me." He set the candle down, seized a knife from the worktable, and slit through the leather on Elizabeth's wrists in two short strokes. She blinked at him, flexing her hands, before bending down to undo the straps on her ankles herself. "But I'm not, so here I am. And may I say, you owe me, Phantomhive."

Knox crossed the room to Ciel, cutting through his straps as well, and there was a rush of tingles in his fingers as the blood began to course through his veins again. He frowned at Knox. "Who are you here with?"

"Grell." He threw the knife into the door, where it stuck there, quivering in the wood. "With William spearheading the operation. Who did you think it would be?"

Ciel opened his mouth to respond, but he didn't get the chance. There was the click of a shoe, the swish of skirts, and something hit him. A fist, he thought it could have been, hard enough to send stars bursting through his skull, and he was knocked back into his chair with such force that his head snapped back, wrenching his neck. Elizabeth drew back, rubbing her knuckles absently, her face drawn and cold, her eyes flat. "That was for breaking the engagement."

She didn't bother to wait for a response, flouncing out of the room with her bag stuffed deep into her pocket again, and Knox watched her go, chortling. He glanced at Ciel. "You mind if I keep her, my lord? I like her."

He stared after his cousin, his face throbbing, thoughts whirling in the back of his mind. Bard's voice overtook everything else.  _Reckon you might be right about the first bit, my lord. But the second…I'll believe it when I see it, if you don't mind._

_She doesn't deserve this life. Without it…she'll be happier._

_She'll be happier without me._

Why did that sound hollow to his ears now, even when he kept quiet?

"She's human,” Ciel said, and probed his jaw, gingerly. It was going to purple and swell, he was sure.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just…leave her, Knox. All right? She doesn't know."

"About what?"

"Everything," Ciel replied, and followed Elizabeth out of the room.

* * *

 

She found her blades on the table outside of the room where they'd been kept. Elizabeth strapped her belt around her waist again, running her fingers over the hilts lovingly, before picking up her pistol too and checking it for bullets. They'd been stolen, or all used up by Snake; either way it was safe to put the thing in her pocket.

Ciel snatched some things off the table, too, his gun and a flattened steel sphere which he stuck back into his pocket without looking at her. His jaw was already changing colors. Elizabeth clenched her sore hand and fought back a smile. The punch had made her feel better, if it had done nothing else. He snarled under his breath to find his pistol empty, and pushed things around on the table until he found his box of bullets, which he stuffed into his waistcoat pocket as well.

Cutter was sitting slumped in a nearby chair, his head resting on the table and blood leaking down his temple. Elizabeth cut her eyes back to Ronald Knox, who winked at her when he noticed her watching. "Well, I couldn't exactly get down here without a little violence, could I?"

She was liking this man more by the minute. She smiled, and studied the rest of the room. No one inside. "You didn't happen to see where they were keeping the others, did you?"

"Hm?" He blinked, and hesitated. "I'm really not supposed to help you any more than this. My partner will kill me if he finds me down here as it is."

"Please,” she said. Mr. Knox looked at her for a long moment, and then groaned. He glared at Ciel.

"This isn't for you, Phantomhive. I don't care what happens to your blasted butler."

"I didn't expect you to,” Ciel said in a cool voice, loading his pistol without looking at either of them. "After the  _Campania_  I'm surprised you're coming anywhere near us."

The  _Campania_? Just what in the hell was going on here? She glared at Ciel— _more and more and more, I keep learning more about him and more he's never bothered to tell me_ —and then looked at Mr. Knox again, and when she did he gave her a pathetic look. "Oh, don't look at me like that, love, please. You're breaking my heart."

"I need to find my friends, Mr. Knox. I'm not leaving here without them."

She only had to look at him for a moment or two longer before he broke the gaze, and ruffled his hands through his hair in frustration. Finally, he cast a glance up at the ceiling, as though he was looking for something, beseeching God for help maybe, before nodding. "Fine.  _Fine_. This way."

They must have been dragged down the eastern tunnel, where the Zodiac had been working, because she recognized nothing down here. There was a wide oaken table, with papers sprawled across it; she glanced at them as they stalked by. Mostly calculations and mechanical sketches; she grabbed a few as they went past, stuffing them into her bag as well, hoping that someone she knew would be able to translate them. There were more of those flattened steel spheres, too, all sitting in a row, and just looking at them made her skin crawl.

Mr. Knox turned down a hallway she almost didn't see, walking faster, and suddenly they were passing dozens of doors. She wondered how long it had taken them to carve this out of the dirt and stone, how many hours people had spent building these tunnels, who had done it and how the Zodiac had managed to convince them to do so. She wondered if the workers were automata.

These doors had windows in them. She caught flashes of empty beds and operating tables through the glass. Her stomach spun a bit, lurching like she was on board a ship, and Elizabeth quickened her step so she was walking abreast with Mr. Knox, who kept flicking little glances at her out of the corner of his eye.  _A flirt, then._  Probably an ally of Ciel's, if he was willing to break them out. She cleared her throat. "Did Ciel have you keep an eye on the building, Mr. Knox?"

"No, I'm here for the souls,” he said, lightly and cheerfully, and when she tripped over her own skirts, he caught her by the elbow. "Be careful there. The floor gets slippery around here."

"Right." She cleared her throat. "The souls? Do you mean the souls of the automata?"

"In part." He sent her a gleaming smile, and added, "But some others. Turn here."

 _Reaper. Souls. List. Contract. Demon._ She felt as though she was wading into a lake, getting deeper and deeper and deeper, until her skirts weighed her down and her corset clenched her lungs into emptiness and she was drowning in information from all sides. Down another hallway, and Elizabeth wondered how on earth he'd managed to track down Colleen and Snake in the first place when it was so winding and ridiculous. The ceiling was inching lower down now, and in the distance she could hear voices, one familiar, one not. Sebastian, and someone else. Ciel started walking faster, passing them by, as Mr. Knox stopped by one of the closed doors and said, "Here you are, love. One Irish girl and one snake freak, at your disposal."

"Elizabeth." It was Ciel. She nearly punched him again, because he had no right to call her that, not anymore. He was already walking away, not looking at the cells. "Take care of Snake for me."

 _I was planning to anyway, you prat._ She was the one who'd pulled Snake downstairs, after all. She chewed her lip, and then turned back to Mr. Knox. It wouldn't do to ask Ciel for help now, anyway. Not after everything. "You don't happen to have any lockpicks, do you?"

"A girl who can punch Ciel Phantomhive  _and_ pick locks?" He beamed at her, as though he'd never seen a creature like her before. "Where have you been all my life?"

"You don't then?"

"Sorry, no."

"Fine." She pulled a bobby pin from her hair— _I hate using these things—_ and crouched in front of the door, feeling around inside the lock. Her hands were shaking too badly. She'd learned a lot of things from her parents, but lockpicking without a kit had not been one of them; she hadn't the faintest idea where to start. Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Knox again. "Any other ideas?"

"One,” he said, and caught her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Whoever's in there might want to stand back, this could get splintery."

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, but she'd only just managed to get to  _are_  when Ronald Knox lifted his foot and kicked in the door. It screeched a protest, knocked off its hinges and slamming against the ground with a bang that echoed down the hallway, and when the sound died, Colleen poked her head out with her eyes wide enough to be plates. Elizabeth's mouth went dry. She stared.

"Just what exactly  _are_ you?" she asked, and Ronald Knox paused outside of Snake's door, cocking one eyebrow at her.

"He was right, you really don't know anything about anything, do you?" His foot lashed out, and a dent appeared in the door. He kicked it again, and it splintered, swinging inwards to hit the wall with a low whine, and when Elizabeth peered in, she saw Snake, curled into the corner with his head buried in his knees. There was no sign of Emily or Wilde. "Sorry, but I have to leave you here. If you keep going up this tunnel—" He pointed the way Ciel had gone "—and take the door with the burned insignia on it, it'll lead you out into the garden. Then get out of here. All three of you," he added, and then he caught sight of Colleen and his grin grew. "My God, Phantomhive's a lucky man to know all of these beauties. My name is Ronald Knox, darling, I think we've met before?"

"You're the one from the balcony," Colleen said in a hoarse voice. Knox nodded, took her hand, and kissed it lightly. To Elizabeth's eternal shock, she thought she saw Colleen color, her nose and ears going pink. Then it was gone, and Knox had pulled away.

"I'm sorry to dash, but I have work. See you outside!"

He kissed Elizabeth's cheek for good measure before jogging back the way they'd come, and Elizabeth was stuck staring after him for a long moment. Colleen rubbed her arms, lightly. "Funny bloke. Who is he?"

"I don't know actually."  _And to be honest, I don't think he's a bloke at all_ , she thought, but she kept that quiet. "Keep watch, will you?"

"You gonna lend me one?" Colleen said, and looked pointedly at the swords. "I lost your fan, sorry."

"Don't worry about it." She pressed a hilt into Colleen's hand. "If the automata show up, aim for the heart."

"Right." Colleen's eyes skittered to Snake, inside the room, and she said, "I think they were hurting him. I mean, I heard him screaming." She shuddered. "It was horrible."

Snake's prison smelled like acid and copper. Elizabeth skirted the dark spot on the floor, keeping her eyes on Snake. He hadn't lifted his head, even at the sound of their voices; he was curled in on himself, rocking, back and forth, back and forth, and when she reached out, something stopped her. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Snake?"

Nothing. Just more rocking.

"Snake, can you hear me?"

She brushed her fingers over his shoulder, and Snake exploded up off the bed. His pupils were slitted and his teeth were bared as he slammed her up against the wall, his hand around her throat, his nails scraping against her skin, and she choked as her feet left the floor. There was nothing in his eyes, no recognition, just pain and rage, and Elizabeth made a soft sound, trying to force her tongue to work as the air slowly left her lungs. "Snake."

"Put her  _down_ ," Colleen said, and she held the sword on Snake, who glared at her, a hiss coming from his throat. Colleen's hands were shaking, but she gritted her teeth and stepped forward, and Elizabeth couldn't breathe. _No, no, no, this isn't supposed to happen!_ " _Now,_  damn you. Put her  _down_."

"Snake." He snapped back to Elizabeth, staring, panting, but he didn't squeeze harder. She said his name again, and again, until his fingers loosened and her feet touched the floor again, and when Elizabeth reached up to touch him, he didn't stop her. He blinked, and his eyes were normal again, and shining with tears. Snake caught her hand and clenched it, hard enough to hurt, but Elizabeth didn't let go. "What did they do to you?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes, and Elizabeth pressed her free hand to his damp cheek. He'd been crying. Her heart twisted in her chest. Finally, she squeezed his fingers. "Come on. We should go."

"Emily," he said, in a hoarse voice, and he touched his hand to the mattress. The sheets shifted, and the snake slid up his arm, brushing his cheek lightly.

He didn't call for Wilde. Elizabeth couldn't see the viper anywhere. She kept a hold on Snake's hand as they left the room. She had a horrible idea about what had happened to make Snake lose control the way he had, and it wasn't because he'd been tortured.

Knox was gone. She'd expected that. Elizabeth drew her other sword, gripping it with her left hand, and really, really hoped they didn't run into anything. She was good with both hands, but she was sore from the antidote and her face was throbbing and bruised and the spider bites were starting to itch; she was in absolutely no condition to be of any use during a fight, and Colleen was worse. When the tunnel opened up into a wide room, long enough to seat a dozen people, Elizabeth tightened her grip on Snake's hand and snarled under her breath. "Look for a door with a burn mark."

She could hear Ciel and Sebastian talking somewhere nearby. There was a door, unburned, left half-open, and she wrenched her eyes away from it. Their voices were a soft unintelligible murmur in her ears as she swept her eyes over the room, wishing she had a candle or a lantern or a light or  _something_  because that would make this so much easier—

"You."

Snake hissed. Elizabeth yanked him around behind her, and thrust her sword forward, only to see Felicity and Theodore Parker, staring at her, eyes wide. Felicity snarled a swearword under her breath, her eyes clinging to the half-open door. "Theodore, the demon—"

Theodore stared at Elizabeth for a long moment, and there was something in his expression that she could almost identify. Then he nodded, and turned, heading for the half-open door. Snake kept a grip on Elizabeth's hand as she settled into position, holding her sword in front of her. There was no one else, just Theodore and Felicity, but that didn't mean much. If the Parkers were down here, that meant the Director and the rest of the Zodiac would be coming, and soon.

"I don't have time for this,” Elizabeth said. She couldn't see Colleen. She hoped the Irish girl was hiding somewhere. She wasn't good enough with a sword for this. Felicity laughed a bit, pulling off her jacket. She wasn't wearing much underneath, a soft shirt with no sleeves, but there were metal skeins on her arms, like armor, but lighter. She threw the jacket away, and suddenly she was carrying knives, two of them, and they glinted in the dark.

Snake's hand slipped out of hers. Elizabeth couldn't look around to see where he was going, but she hoped Colleen had found the door and that those two, at least, would get out.

Elizabeth barely had time to switch sword hands before Felicity lunged, and there was a squeal of metal against metal as the knives caught on the hilt and held.

Then the automata filtered in, two by two, and there were six of them by the time Felicity kicked the door closed behind her. She smiled.

"Neither do I,” Felicity said. "Let's make this quick then, shall we?"


	21. His Cousin, Fraught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: graphic, head-related violence, gun violence, physical blows.

She was going to lose.

Felicity was good. It wasn't just that Elizabeth was exhausted and aching and sore and bleeding and everything else. Felicity was  _good_ , and Elizabeth had a hunch in the back of her mind that even if she hadn't been torn up and tired, she would be having trouble with this woman. A  _lot_ of trouble. Even with the weight of her legs and spine—and that must have been a lot, even if they'd been made of lightweight metal—she was  _fast_ , and she moved like the knives were extensions of her hands, exactly the way she was supposed to. Some elements of her style reminded Elizabeth of an angry Edward; other parts were completely alien, almost balletic, as she spun and lunged with her daggers. The blade gashed along Elizabeth's right shoulder, and she let out a shocked sound, more out of surprise than anything else—the pain wouldn't come until later.

The automata were avoiding them. In the room where Sebastian was being kept, she could hear crashing, but she wasn't paying attention to that at the moment. She was trying to keep Felicity from gutting her. Elizabeth parried and lunged, but the daggers were there to meet her, and she barely had time to duck before one of them sliced through her throat. She could hear Snake snarling something behind her, and Colleen screamed, she couldn't tell if it was in rage or in pain, but then her focus narrowed again and there was only Felicity as the girl slid forward, past Elizabeth's guard, readying the knives. She lashed out with the sword, and Felicity yelped as the blade ran across the unprotected skin of her wrist, forcing her to drop one of the knives. Elizabeth kicked it away, under the bench, and wished very much that her pistol wasn't useless.

"Bitch,” Felicity spat, and Elizabeth snorted. Her arm was trembling. She wouldn't be able to hold a sword much longer.

"That's really not very nice, Fee."

Felicity gritted her teeth, but she didn't lunge forward. Instead, she stepped to the side, and Elizabeth mimicked her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Colleen lunge, and pierce one of the automata through the throat before flicking the sword down and stabbing it in the heart. Snake was nowhere to be seen.

"Pay  _attention_ ," said Felicity, and Elizabeth started paying attention just in time to smack the dagger away from her heart. It glanced across her ribcage instead, tearing the fabric of her dress. The whalebone corset caught most of the blade; still, it felt like someone had opened up a tear in her skin made of fire, and she grit her teeth to keep herself from screaming. She'd fought with her mother and brother and father for years, but never with unguarded blades.

 _There's something else to add,_  she thought, blearily, her head spinning as she twisted out of the way and hit Felicity in the back with the edge of her blade. Felicity screamed, spinning, and it was the first real hit that Elizabeth had scored, other than the little pinch on the wrist.  _I don't like pain. I don't like pain at all._

Neither did Felicity, by the look of it. She glared at Elizabeth, looking like she would like nothing more than to flay her alive. Blood ran down her fingers to drip on the floor. But she didn't attack; she switched her knife from hand to hand, careful to stay out of reach, and said, "You should never have come here. Why do you have to ruin  _everything_?"

"I don't have to explain myself to anyone, least of all you!"

Elizabeth lunged. Fee skipped back, out of reach, and vaulted onto the table, and Elizabeth swore under her breath before following, seizing her skirts in her free hand and using a nearby chair as a stepping stone. Colleen and Snake were fighting back to back, and when she attacked again, she saw a flash of movement from inside the prison room. Ciel came crashing out, Theodore hot on his heels. Felicity's head snapped around, and Elizabeth took advantage; she pushed off into a perfect lunge, and her sword pierced flesh, pushing forward, forward, forward, and Felicity screamed as the blade slid smoothly through her shoulder. It put her in range. Fireworks went off behind her eyes as Felicity wrenched back and backhanded her, and Elizabeth hit the table hard enough to send echoes through her skull. Her sword was gone. In Fee's hand now; the tip pricked her throat, and Felicity snarled, pressing the wound with her free hand. The dagger was in her reach, but her head was spinning and something was squashing her chest, she couldn't breathe, and Elizabeth stared up at Felicity.

 _I lost._  She thought, and for some reason peace spread through her, cool and calming.

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

* * *

 

The Director had lied. It wasn't just Latin and holy water; it was a damned  _cage_  inscribed with runes and prayers and who knew what else. There was a complicate seal carved into the floor, too, with a small circle in the middle where Sebastian was standing. Ciel had no idea what would happen if he stepped out of that circle, but somehow he doubted it would be good.

Despite reading everything he could find on demons, which was, admittedly, very little, he'd never heard of anything like this before: a cage and a seal that could keep a creature as powerful as Sebastian locked up for hours was completely outside of his realm of understanding. There was even a line of salt outside the bars, and he made sure to drag his feet through it as he went to the bars, trying to find a way inside. There was no door, not that he could see, and no other opening besides the thin spaces between the iron rails. He scowled at Sebastian. "Consider yourself fired."

"Considered, my lord." Sebastian stayed absolutely still, his face flat and unemotional. "And rightfully so. I apologize. A butler truly worthy of the Phantomhive family would never have been caught by so feeble a trick."

"Oh, shut up, Sebastian," Ciel said, and grabbed the bars, shaking them lightly. They were definitely fixed into the wall, too deep for him to really do anything about it, but he was still wondering how they had managed to get him in there in the first place.

Sebastian must have guessed his thoughts. "They removed the door after I entered, my lord."

"Brilliant," said Ciel, and swore under his breath. "Bloody brilliant—"

"We thought so, yes."

He knew who it had to be before he turned around. There was no one else in the building with that Texan drawl. Parker uncrossed his arms, standing loosely, balanced, his center of gravity placed low to keep his feet flat on the ground. Ciel could feel his pistol creasing his pocket, cool metal and death, but if he dropped his hand to grab it now that would give Parker an opening. He offered a grimace of a smile. "I have to say, this isn't exactly how I thought we would meet."

"Me neither." His eyes were flat, like emerald glass. "Step away from the cage."

"I would, but actually, the thing  _in_  the cage belongs to me." Ciel lifted an eyebrow, tense, waiting. Parker was coiling, like a snake about to strike.  _Almost there._  "You've been keeping stolen property."

Parker didn't speak. His eyes didn't flicker at all. He just attacked, sudden, a rush of raw power, and Ciel had to skip to the side before the Texan's fist landed in his face. He jumped back again when Parker turned on his heel and spun into a roundhouse kick, his boot nearly clipping Ciel's nose.  _I was right, he has been trained._  In the cage, Sebastian made a disgusted sound, and Ciel wondered if it was because Parker was attacking, or because Ciel would have to defend himself. Either option would have irritated him.

He ducked another punch, and swept Parker's feet from under him, or tried to. Ciel barely rolled out of the way again before Parker put him in a headlock, and irritation built up in his throat like acid.  _Fine. He wants to play?_  This sort of situation was precisely the reason he'd had Lau find that teacher for him, after the  _Campania_. He'd been without Sebastian, even if it had only been for a little while, and being reduced to shooting randomly into a pit of living dead waiting for the butler to show up had not only been completely nerve-wracking; it had frustrated him endlessly. The fact that Lizzy had been there too, her eyes wide as plates, had only made it worse. Promising to protect someone and then being unable to do it…

He shook that idea out of his head, rolled backwards out of Parker's reach, and sprang back to his feet, setting his hands in front of him, palms out, waiting. Parker paused, studying him for a moment. There was a flicker of dawning comprehension in his eyes. Ciel shifted back, out of reach, turning slightly so that his left eye, his blind spot, was made useless. "Why so dedicated, Parker? All tangled up with Lizzy, no place to go?"

Parker grimaced, but didn't move. Then something made him smile. Ciel scowled. "What?"

"Nothin'. Just…you won't shut up about your precious cousin." His voice went taunting. "Something I don't know, Phantomhive? Is little Lizzy keeping you up at night?"

Fury, hot and thick, dropped through his stomach like lava. Ciel clenched his fists, and snapped his foot out, nearly kicking Parker in the face. When the man ducked, he struck again, and his fist clipped the man's jaw just as something hard hit him in the stomach, fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer. Theodore grinned at him, and there was blood on his teeth as he said, "She's good at that, isn't she?"

"Shut  _up_." Ciel heaved his feet off the floor, planting them both into Parker's stomach and pushing off. He  _felt_ all the air being pushed out of the Texan as he flew back, skidding across the floor to nearly hit his head on the wall. He slid out the door instead, and Parker took a few stumbling steps back, coughing, he scrambled further out, to get more room. Parker came barreling after him, and damn the man, but he was strong; his fist snagged Ciel's cheek, and his head snapped to the side before he slammed his palm in an open-handed slap across Parker's face. It was cheating, by all the standard rules, but he wasn't exactly an honorable fighter in the best of circumstances. Ciel would take what he could get.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened. One second he was winning, it seemed like, and the next, Parker had hit him in the head with the base of something hard and wooden, and he found himself whipped around. There was something sharp at the base of his throat that burned across his skin when he moved. He stopped moving. Typically, if something hurt, it wasn't the best idea to keep doing it. Parker stayed still, though; he didn't cut his throat. Ciel swallowed, and his adam's apple bobbed against the blade. He could feel blood running down, soaking the collar of his shirt. "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't want you dead quite yet. See, you have something I want, Phantomhive." The knife was cold against Ciel's skin as Parker leaned forward, pitching his voice low. "I want your demon."

"Can't have him,” Ciel said, "Sorry," and then he drove his elbow back into Parker's stomach and ducked. The knife went wide, flying from Parker's fingers and clattering to the floor as Ciel scrabbled back out of reach. Someone, a woman, screamed. He ignored it, turning to stare at Parker, waiting for another attack, but Parker wasn't moving. At this angle Ciel could see his nostrils flare and his eyes widen and all the blood drain from his face. When Ciel finally remembered how to breathe, he looked too, and the bitch was holding a sword on Elizabeth.

It wasn't just fury that avalanched through him now. It was panic. Pure and simple. The panic he'd been trying so hard to avoid by driving her away; the utter terror that drove every clear thought out of his head, the desperation, the silent promise.  _You are not going to die. I will not let you die._  Ciel dug his hand into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cool metal, and before Parker realized he'd even moved, he'd pulled out of reach, aimed, and fired.

* * *

 

The gun went off close to her ear, or maybe it was just echoing around the chamber; she wasn't sure. Something sharp slipped against her collarbone as Felicity staggered back; she'd dropped Elizabeth's sword. A fresh crimson blossom of blood opened on her other shoulder. There was another bang, and she spun wildly to the side, blood slipping down the side of her face. She hit the table harder than Elizabeth had, and her eyes closed. The second bullet had just clipped her. Elizabeth rolled onto her back, turning her head slowly to see Ciel turning back to kick Theodore in the stomach, forcing him away. Someone brushed her face; Snake, crimson matting his silver hair on one side. He touched her head, and then studied his fingers. She could tell, even in her blur, that they'd come away red.

"We have to get her out of here,” Colleen said, and she was streaked with blood too, but it didn't seem to be hers. Elizabeth took a breath, trying to inhale, but her corset, twisting in the back, was squeezing her too tight; she caught Snake's hand, squeezing, trying to tell him, but black spots began to burst in front of her eyes and she couldn't speak. She was gasping when Colleen rolled her over, unbuttoned the dress, and slit the cords on her corset, and blessed air flooded her lungs again. Elizabeth coughed, trembly, and looked at Felicity again.

"Is she all right?"

"What does  _that_ matter?" Colleen said violently, driving the dagger into the table, and for once, Elizabeth was inclined to agree with her.  _This girl was going to kill me_ , she thought, staring at Felicity.  _She was going to cut my throat._

_But you set William Bardroy free, didn't you? Interesting choice for someone such as you to make, don't you think, if you're so proud of your loyalty to the Zodiac._

_Bard_ , she thought, and decided. "Give me your jacket,” she said to Snake, and he stared at her for a long moment before she snapped, " _Now_!" It was torn and ruined, mostly unusable, and it smelled of blood, but she folded it up anyway and pressed it against the shoulder wound. Fee's eyelids fluttered, and Colleen swore.

"What do you think you're  _doing_?"

"Be quiet for a second, Colleen!" Elizabeth glanced back at Theodore and Ciel; Ciel circling, trying to take Theo off guard, Theodore trying to get to his sister, and she shouted, "Ciel, get Sebastian out!"

Ciel looked at her, his eyes narrowing, and in that instant of inattention, Theodore blasted past him. He stopped three feet from the table, trapped by Colleen; she was holding the sword in both hands, the tip pressing against his heart. "One more step and I spike you, cowboy."

"She needs a doctor,” Elizabeth said, and slipped off the table. Her knees were shaking so badly she nearly collapsed; Snake caught her and drew her arm over his shoulders, and Emily nudged her cheek, tongue flicking out to taste the blood trailing down her jaw. She was suddenly very dizzy. "She'll need a doctor, Theodore."

Neither of them moved. Theodore didn't bother to look at Colleen, he just stared at Elizabeth, his eyes burning in his face. Snake's fingers tightened at her waist, and she squeezed his shoulder. Emily hissed. "Colleen, let him past."

"But he's—"

" _Do it_ ," she said, and it was must have been the blood on her face and soaking her arm, or the fact that her voice was so hoarse, or that she nearly lost her balance again saying it that made Colleen lower the sword. She stepped out of the way, and Theodore broke for his sister, checking her pulse, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Then the door creaked, and for the first time since she'd hit the table, she heard it. The ticking. More automata; they leaked through the door, spreading in a small phalanx, staring blankly with their glass eyes. Colleen turned to look at her, panic flickering in her face. "Elizabeth…."

The question was plain in her eyes.  _What do we do?_  Ciel had vanished again, probably back into that room where Sebastian lurked. Colleen passed her sword to Snake, who held it awkwardly in one hand; she stole the other one off the table. Neither of them offered one to Elizabeth, waiting for instructions.

She closed her hands into fists. Five. Ten. Fifteen automata, and more marching in, standing ramrod straight, watching and waiting for orders. "I don't know."

"We can't kill that many,” Colleen said, and her eyes fixed on one of the women in the front, one with dirty blonde hair. Mollie. Elizabeth gritted her teeth and stood up straighter, but her rib cage protested and she cried out, softly. That seemed to be a signal. As one, the automata stepped forward, and then again, and they were marching, slowly, across the room. There was a burst of voices from inside the prison room, and then another series of gunshots, one-two-three, but that meant nothing really. Whatever was trapping Sebastian, if it had kept him locked up this long, it would be a while before he was out, and they had very little time.

"Did either of you find the door?" she asked, desperation clouding her thoughts. Colleen nodded, but her face was grim.

"It's locked."

 _Damn it._  She glanced at the door, once. No sign of Ciel  _or_ Sebastian, and who knew how long it would take to break Sebastian loose? She reached forward, pulling away from Snake and taking Colleen's sword. She pressed the bag with the Chinese puzzle box into her hand instead. "Go."

"I'm not leavin' you here!"

"Just  _go_ , both of you!" She didn't look at Theodore or Felicity. "Get out of here, both of you! We'll be fine," she lied, and both of them saw it. Colleen's eyes darkened. Snake looked stricken. "Pick the lock, get out of here, we'll be right behind you."

"No you fecking  _won't_!"

"Shut up, Colleen, and just do as you're told for once! Get out of here now!"

"Stop tryin' to be so damn noble, you stupid mollisher!"

"For God's sake, Colleen—"

"What about Smile?" Snake asked suddenly, the first thing he'd said since they'd broken him out of the cell.

"Ciel can take care of himself." Elizabeth glanced at the door again, without thinking about it, before she took the other sword from Snake, ignoring the protest of her arm. "Please. Just…go. Please."

Colleen opened her mouth to keep arguing, but another voice cut her off, male, unfamiliar for a moment. Theodore.

"Stop!" Theodore said again, and it wasn't directed at them. It was at the automata. The machines rattled to a standstill, waiting for more orders, but he didn't give them. Instead, he pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around his sister, pulling it tight across her bleeding shoulders. Theodore lifted Felicity up into his arms, and her head rocked against his shoulder like that of a small child. He watched them for a moment. His lips were pressed into the thinnest of lines. She felt hot and then cold, and finally pain began to leak into her, slowly, the way water will dribble out of a tap, into her shoulder and her side. Her head ached. Elizabeth held her swords up, ignoring the fact that her elbows were trembling and her arm was screaming now, whining at the weight. Theodore shook his head slightly, and broke the gaze. "Get out of here."

The tips of the swords hit the floor with a clang, and Elizabeth stared at him. "What?"

"Go!" He dug through his pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them at Snake, who caught them automatically, his eyes wide as plates. "Get  _them_ —" Theodore jerked his head at the half-closed door "—out too. I can hold them off for a few minutes longer."

"Theodore." Her heart twisted in her chest. "Why?"

His hands were occupied with Felicity. If they hadn't been, she was certain he would have reached out and touched her. He said nothing, only looked at her, eyes burning in his face, and Elizabeth stepped forward and pressed her palm to his cheek. It left a bloody mark there, like a stain. He leaned into it, never looking away from her, never speaking a word.

"Thank you,” Elizabeth hesitated, pulling away, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. "Be safe."

"This won't happen again,” he said. "I don't want to ever see you again, Elizabeth."

She nodded. He held his sister closer, and then, finally, he stepped back and walked away. The automata followed him out. One closed the door behind them with a soft click. It had barely shut before she dropped the swords, and Colleen caught her before she hit the floor. The Irish girl took over. "Open the door, snake-eyes. We'd better get before that bloke with the specs comes back and all merry hell breaks loose."

Specs. Ronald Knox. Elizabeth leaned against the table, adrenaline fading.  _God_ , how she hurt. Colleen collected the swords without a word, stealing Elizabeth's belt and tightening it around her own waist before sliding them back into their slender scabbards. In the side-room, there was a final gunshot, and then a screech of metal, and Ciel was the first one out. There was blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth and a bruise swelling on his cheek, but other than that he seemed mostly all right. Except for the blood spattered all up his sleeves, Sebastian was as impeccably coiffed as always. He was walking a bit oddly though, stiff. Her innards clenched at the sight of him. He caught her looking, and smiled, his eyes gleaming under long dark lashes.  _What keeps me from killing you now, my lady Elizabeth?_

Felicity had called him a demon.

"We should go,” Ciel said, glancing at her and away, and he was suddenly pale. Maybe it was all the blood. "The reapers are here for a reason. We shouldn't be here when they start to work. Can she walk?" he asked Snake, pointedly keeping his eyes off her, and Elizabeth scowled.

" _She_ can walk just fine." She only had to take a few steps before her knees gave out, though, and gloved hands caught her, gently. One of them brushed against the cut in her arm, and she yelped. Sebastian.

"I think it would be best if she were carried, my lord."

"No—" she said, and terror clutched at her, tearing her throat with its claws. When she tried to wrench away, he dug his fingers in and held. Pain lanced through her arm, and she had to close her eyes and grit her teeth to keep from crying out again. None of them noticed; Snake was working on the door, Colleen was watching him, and Ciel was staring at the other door, waiting, as though the automata were going to come back.

"Noted,” he said, and waved his hand in a dismissal. Elizabeth barely had time to squeak before Sebastian had swung her up, and he was carrying her the way he always had when she'd been young and stupid, one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees. She opened her mouth to scream, but then his eyes found hers, and they were exactly the color of fresh-spilled blood.

"Go to sleep, my lady," he said, and there was something in his voice relaxed some twist of horror, deep inside. She felt herself falling away, and alarm made her eyes go wide. He stared, his eyes wide and unblinking and hypnotic, and darkness crept in across her vision. Her eyes were closing. "When you wake up, everything will be better."

 _Demon_ , she thought again, and then the world vanished.

She was asleep.

* * *

 

Upstairs, Ronald Knox was waiting.

They'd already collected a fair share of souls, mostly from the automata that Phantomhive and his demon had destroyed. There were a few more down in the tunnels still, but those could wait until later. There were a few more names in the book that he didn't quite recognize, ones that didn't gleam with the knowledge of the first half-death, and Grell was more interested in watching those than anything else.

It took a long time to find the right room, and even longer to find a way to eavesdrop without being noticed. Finally, they broke in through an upstairs window and watched from the second floor of the library, Grell with his arms resting on the railing, his finger tapping at his cheek, Ronald simply waiting, his arms across his chest, watching the Zodiac coo over the broken girl on the desk. Felicity Parker's name wasn't in the book; her wounds were only superficial at this point, though it looked like the bullet wound in the shoulder had gone through a tricky bit of tissue. Wouldn't be easily repaired. She was still unconscious. Her brother was sitting by the head of the desk, stroking her hair, watching the rest of the Zodiac pace and quiver and mumble from underneath his eyelashes. There was a man with black hair sitting next to him, not looking at anybody, just holding Felicity's hand and caressing it with his fingers, lightly. Grell sighed, watching Parker.

"I'm not one to go for humans very often, dear, but he has a certain ruggedness about him, don't you think? I could just tear him apart."

Ronald lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. It was the best way to deal with Grell's ramblings. "If you say so."

"I do. Just look at that  _jaw_." Grell leaned forward a little bit, his hair slipping out from behind his ears, masking his face. "Already all bloodied up too. It isn't fair to torture a woman this way, it really isn't."

Their voices were too low for anyone downstairs to hear, but Ronald checked anyway. Then he checked his watch. 3:41. Three minutes left. He tightened his grip on his scythe, stroking the handle with his thumb, absently. Downstairs, one of the Zodiac turned, and said, "You said you were knocked out, Parker?"

Parker didn't say anything for a long moment. He kept his hand on his sister's forehead, his thumb rubbing her uninjured temple. Then he lifted his head, and if there was anyone with murder written into his face, it was that man sitting down there in the half-light with his bruised and broken sister lying before him, asleep. "They're gone. That's all that matters. They're probably on their way back to London right now."

For the first time, the older, dark-haired man holding Felicity's hand stirred. He looked up, staring at Parker, and Parker stared back, daring him to say something. He didn't. Shirakawa muttered in lilting Japanese before dropping into the nearest chair, running his hands up over his skull. Beddor was already sitting, and he was quaking with nervousness, his eyes flicking from Parker to the dark-haired man and back again, waiting for something to happen.

"We should have left a stronger guard!" Collins bellowed, and he snarled a swearword. Cutter winced, rubbing his sore head. "This is  _ridiculous_! Do you have any idea how much work I've put into this project—how much work we've  _all_ put in—and it's blown by one stupid little boy and his tart of a fiancée?"

Parker looked back at his sister, and said nothing. Ronald thought he saw the man's hand clench into a fist against his thigh. The dark-haired man shifted again; he let Felicity's hand slide out of his as he stood, and suddenly, there was a shattering noise. It made Grell jump. One of the wineglasses on the table had exploded, and now the smooth dark liquid was spreading over the papers, staining the pale carpet. Collins abruptly fell silent.

"All the work  _you've_  put in?" the Director said, and his voice was lower than it should have been. The windows began to rattle. Grell looked up at Ronald, and his eyes were gleaming with excitement. Two minutes. "All the work  _you've_ put in? You've spent a year of your life working on this, if not less than that, Leon. A  _year._  Do you know how long it's taken me to develop this project? Do you know how long it's taken me to get this far?"

Collins had to have been over six foot, weighing more than two hundred pounds, well-muscled and brawny. He took two steps back and tripped over an ottoman, and there was nothing but pure dread etched on his features at the sight of this slender, womanish man standing over him. Ronald blinked. When had he moved from behind the desk, anyway? "I—I'm sorry—"

" _Fifty years_ ,” the Director breathed, and Collins choked. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth, traced down from his eyes and nose and ears. Ronald looked down at his notebook.  _Collins, Henry. Cause of death: internal pulverization. Cutter Manorhouse, Dorking, Surrey. 3:44 A.M. April 12, 1891._ "More than  _fifty years_  since I started work on this, and you idiots ruin it in  _three stinking hours_."

Ronald felt it vibrate through his senses when Collins' heart exploded. The name in his notebook began to glow.  _First death complete._  Beddor was hyperventilating, his eyes enormous, hands clutching at the arms of his chair. Anderson stood up, ready to run, and then he choked too, and began to bleed.  _Anderson, Jeremiah. Cause of death: internal combustion. 3:44 A.M._  Cook, too, and Langston, Gillian, Davies; one by one they fell, gasping and retching, to the floor, and there were little vibrations again, again, again as their hearts burst. Petrovsky, the Russian, didn't move until the last body stopped twitching; then he stepped to the side table and poured himself three fingers of brandy. His hands were cool and still, his accent clipped. "It's so messy."

"I should kill you too, you bastard,” the Director said, and his voice was deeper, hollow, echoing. "You're the one who let her rummage through the house."

"You can't kill me,” Petrovsky said, and took a swallow of his drink. "You need me for the operations. For your blasted soul collecting.  _Director._  If you're going to kill anyone it should be Cutter and the Parker boy. They're the ones who failed tonight."

The Director stared at him for a long moment, and Ronald double-checked his list, but there was no Petrovsky, Cutter, or Parker on the page tonight. There was, however, a Beddor. The man quaked when the Director turned to him, and he fell on his knees. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what she would do, she was just a friend of my daughter's, I'm  _sorry—_ "

 _Beddor, Damian._  Ronald read as the Director reached forward, smoothing his fingers over Beddor's forehead before clenching the man's skull in his long-fingered hand.  _Cause of death: blunt-force trauma to the cranium. 3:45 A.M._

The skull made a wet splatting sound as the Director crushed it in one hand. Beddor fell to the floor, and blood seeped into the carpet. The room smelled wet and coppery now, flush with the scent of blood. Nathaniel Fotheringhay was in the corner, quivering, his eyes enormous at the sight of all the bodies. Shirakawa hadn't looked up once through the slaughter. When he finally did, he cast a disgusted look at Fotheringhay. "Can't you kill him too?"

"Felicity's fond of him,” the Director said, but he stepped across to Fotheringhay anyway. He trod in part of Beddor's skull as he crossed over the body. It squelched. He bent down, and seized Fotheringhay's chin in one hand, turning his head to face him. "You won't make this mistake again, will you, my pretty boy?"

Fotheringhay whimpered, and began to cry. The Director stared at him for a long moment, and then patted his cheek, leaving a smear of blood on his skin. "Besides, I can't kill Cutter. He was one of the first in our little party, just like you and Shirakawa, Petrovsky. I'm loyal to those who are loyal to me, don't you remember that?"

"What about the boy?" Petrovsky grunted, and the Director turned, smiling. For some reason, that, out of everything else, sucked the blood from the Russian's face.

"Don't ever ask me to kill the Parker children, Vladimir, or loyalty or not, I will destroy every last part of your body and rip your soul apart."

There was a long moment of silence before Petrovsky nodded, and inhaled the rest of his brandy like a man who hadn't seen liquid in months. The Director turned, and without bothering to wipe his bloodstained hands, he lifted Felicity up into his arms. Parker stood too, and went to Fotheringhay, slapping the man's face lightly to snap him out of it. "Come. We should get young Fee to a doctor before she loses much more blood."

Cutter grunted. "Now what?"

"Well, that's simple, isn't it, darling?" said the Director, and this time when he smiled it was warm and bright. "We track the boy down again, and the girl who slipped in here so nicely—so polite, wasn't she, Theodore, like a trained kitten—and we tear their hearts out and make them into some of my pretty, pretty wind-up toys. Won't it be glorious to see the Phantomhive dancing on a string?"

Parker pulled Fotheringhay to his feet. "What about the demon?"

"I keep him." Grell stiffened, and if Ronald hadn't seized the back of his coat he was certain that his partner would have lunged off the balcony at the threat to his precious demon. Though he rather supposed Grell would be more upset about not being able to kill Sebastian himself after…whatever it was Grell wanted to do to him. Nobody downstairs noticed. The Director hummed under his breath as he carried Felicity out of the room, trailed by the five remaining members of the Zodiac. Grell waited until they had closed the door before turning to Ronald, and his eyes were shining behind his half-moon glasses.

"What a glorious man to kill, don't you think?"

"Glorious is one way to put it," Ronald agreed, and heaved his scythe up into the air. "Let's get to work, then, shall we?"

Grell laughed, and the sound echoed over the mechanical roar of his scythe as the two leapt down and began to collect their souls.


	22. His Cousin, Knackered

The first time she woke up, it was dark, and there was a snake resting at the end of her bed. It was Emily. When Elizabeth moaned, the viper hissed, and slid up the bed to nudge Lizzy’s bare palm, the way a cat did when it wanted to be stroked. She scratched the scales behind Emily’s head before she closed her eyes and fell back into the quiet of sleep.

The second time, she clung onto consciousness for long enough to feel the ache of her cuts and the buzzing in her limbs. She wondered if that was one of the aftereffects of the antidote before her mind tried to catch up— _what antidote?_  She opened her eyes a slit, and then closed them again when the light burned, sending bolts of pain through her head. Emily was gone, but there was someone brushing her face lightly with calloused fingertips. She didn't have enough energy to wonder who.  _I shouldn't be this exhausted_ , she thought, but then red-brown eyes appeared in the back of her mind and sent her spiraling back into the blackness, and she remembered enough.  _Sebastian. He's keeping me unconscious._

_For how long?_

She was asleep again before she could think of an answer.

The third time was the last straw. Orange light was spattered across the whitewashed wall, and when she opened her eyes, she only flinched once before blinking slowly and staring at the window. It was too orange for dawn; sunset then. She couldn't see a clock. Elizabeth turned her head, ignoring the ache in her skull—it wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, not yet. There was a dark figure standing by the window. Colleen. She had a bandage wrapped around her forehead and the way her clothes hung on her in some places and clung in others said there was more gauze hidden under her dress. When Elizabeth looked down at her own arms, lying flat against her on the bed, there were bandages there, too. She grunted, and Colleen turned.

"Thank God,” Colleen said explosively, and took the chair by the bed. She didn't take Elizabeth's hand. "You've been asleep for two days. Startin' to scare us, Lady Toff."

"Two days?" Her voice was hoarse and cracking, and she cleared her throat. She wanted water. Desperately. "Where?"

"Apparently Phantomhive bought a house in Dorking under an assumed name. We've been hidin' out here, but it looks like Cutter's manorhouse is empty. They found a bunch of bodies in there yesterday, most of the Zodiac.” Colleen's lips pressed tight together. "Not Cutter, though."

"Oh."

"Phantomhive went back and found a bunch o'this nasty tastin' stuff. He says we're supposed to drink some every day to make sure the spider bites don't knock us off." She turned, and picked up a small glass from the table. It was filled a finger-width high with a soft amber liquid that smelled like ammonia. "It's disgustin'. Warning you now."

It burned going down, too. Elizabeth coughed and nearly heaved it back up before it was all gone. Colleen gave her water afterwards, but she could still taste it in her mouth, like heavy metals on her tongue. "Then it's Tuesday?"

"Yeah."

She'd been due to come back on Monday morning. Her parents must be frantic. Elizabeth clenched her hands into the covers and tried to sit up. "I have to—"

"His Nibs sent them a note,” Colleen said, pushing her gently back down to the bed, and Elizabeth could only imagine how well  _that_ had gone over. Edward was probably on his way here right now. If he could track down where the note came from, anyway. "He's been in and out of here most of the time you were asleep. Black was right chuffed about it."

"Black?" Elizabeth echoed.

"The foppish bloke with the strange eyes."

Sebastian. Elizabeth felt a bit sick.  _Sebastian, who can hypnotize. Sebastian, who can crush skulls with his bare hands. Sebastian, who'd been called a demon._  "Oh."

"He—Phantomhive, I mean—kept scarpering as soon as I came in, but I walked by a couple times and he was just in here keepin' an eye on you." Colleen smiled thinly. "I don't like him much, but he looked like all kinds of hell and he still came t'check on you, so I guess that's something."

 _Don't tell me that. That makes this harder._  "Oh,” Elizabeth said, and closed her eyes. "I remember Emily."

"She came in on her own. I think Snake-Eyes sent her in to keep an eye on you. He's been in the garden since we came back, won't talk to anyone,” Colleen said, and sniffed. "Dunno what's wrong with him, or what they did, but he's not doing too well, I can tell you that much."

"How many snakes did he bring back?" Elizabeth asked, and Colleen stared at her for a moment before shrugging.

"How'm I supposed to know? I stay far away. Don't like snakes."

Of course. What else had she expected? Elizabeth sat up again, slowly, and Colleen, instead of pushing her back down, stuck another pillow behind her back to prop her up better. She winced when pain tickled her arm. "How are the others?"

"There's an American downstairs and he keeps arguin' with Black. Makes the rest of us nervous." Colleen lifted one shoulder in a shrug, but Elizabeth fought back a smile. That was typical Bard. "He wanted t'come in and see you, but nobody'd let him, not until you woke up. There's some funny dark fellows downstairs too, they've been here since yesterday; one of 'em brought the doctor. His Nibs has been climbin' the walls wanting to get somethin' done, but he's not doin' much better than you and Black won't let him out of the house."

"How are you doing?"

"I've had worse." Colleen waved the concern away. "Besides, I've been resting too. I'm fine."

Elizabeth studied her, and said nothing. Colleen looked dreadful; the bandage around her head was wrapped tight, clearly fresh, and she wondered how the forehead cut was doing. Her wrists were bandaged too, probably from wrenching too many times against the leather straps, and she had a large purple bruise on her cheek that made her eye puff up like an insect bite. She didn't look  _fine_  at all. Wisely, Elizabeth said nothing. "Right."

"You came out the worst, probably." She ticked it off on her fingers. "Cut to the collarbone, cut to the ribcage, cut to the arm—those were all stitched, by the way—bruises, spider bites, and a right bad headache from what we could tell."

Well, that explained the soreness. Elizabeth sat there for a long moment, staring at the window. "What about my bag?"

"Oh." Colleen stood quickly, going to the desk, and pulling out one of the drawers. The green silk bag with black lace trim ended up in her lap, with suspicious stains one some places. Someone had bled on it. "There. I think everythin's still inside."

"I don't care about everything." She pushed the papers with mechanical drawings aside, and pulled out the Chinese puzzle box, studying it carefully. It seemed relatively undamaged. One of the corners was chipped, but when she shook it, gently, there was no tinkle of broken things. She put it back in the bag and slid both under the bed before looking up at Colleen. Elizabeth chewed her lip. "And the photographs?"

Her eyes flickered. Colleen went still. "What about them?"

"Are they all right?"

Colleen looked at her for a moment. Then she stood, went to the desk, and pulled open the bottom right-hand drawer, digging down under a few papers and things. When she stood up again, she had three photographs in her hands, the ones that they'd found on a table down the northern tunnel, as Snake had explored the rows and rows of metal skeletons, hung like on metal racks like laundry out to dry. The table had to have been Theodore's workstation; there had been pieces of a clockwork heart strewn everywhere, a few papers like the ones she'd snatched up, and a cowboy hat dangling off of one of the chairs.

Family photos. The little boy was familiar, even though he was probably only twelve. Theodore. Next to him sat a small girl with bright eyes and very light hair, and she was fighting back a smile, flicking her eyes up at her brother in the moment that the photo had been taken. She had to have been around eight, maybe nine at the most, small for her age, hands folded neatly in her lap. Their parents were standing behind them, the mother almost a wisp, the father burly and with a bristling blonde mustache.

The second photo was a few years later. They were all dressed in black. The mother was gone, and Felicity was in a wheelchair, one that kept her legs straight out in front of her and her back propped up. Her cheekbones jutted out of her face like knives. Theodore was standing behind the back of the chair, his hands on her shoulders. Their father was sitting beside them both, and there were new lines in his face and a shadow in his eyes. Behind the chair stood the Director, and he looked just the same. Not a line on his face, his eyes staring into the camera like he could suck out the soul of the photographer.

The last picture was only of Felicity and Theodore, standing side by side in front of an empty fireplace. Felicity was standing in a high-necked gown; Theodore had his hat on. Behind them there was a decorated Chinese wall-scroll. It had to be a recent photo; they looked exactly the same as they did now. Elizabeth picked up a book from the bedside table—a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's poems—and tucked the photos at the beginning of _The Raven_  before handing it to Colleen. "Put that in my bag, please."

"Won't he miss it?"

"Not for a while." She shifted anxiously under the covers. "Is there a dressing gown?"

"Sure." Colleen grimaced. "Nobody's gonna be pleased to see you wanderin'. Doctor said bed rest."

"Hang the doctor. I want to walk."

For once, Colleen didn't argue. She fetched the dressing gown, and even helped Elizabeth into it when her shoulder protested. Elizabeth tied the knot around her waist with quivering fingers, and ignored the way her body whined when she moved. Her knees weren't shaking any longer, at least; she could walk, even if she felt like she'd been run over by a taxicab. Her hair was loose around her shoulders as she opened the door, pulling the robe tighter around herself, and stepped out into the hallway. Colleen followed, quiet as a shadow; waiting for her to trip, probably.

Upstairs was quiet. Downstairs was not. She could hear Bard's loud drawl to the left, and raised voices to the right, one round and swollen with a strange accent. Indian, she thought. She brightened in spite of herself, and wondered if Prince Soma had finally come back from his travels, but the voice was wrong. It was deeper, less lyrical. There was a door in front of her, too, a glass one, and it led out into a traditional English garden. Her bare feet squashed in the mud as she stepped out, and the chill air of sunset hit her skin.

Colleen followed. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"I've been stuck in bed for two days, Colleen,” Elizabeth said in a quiet voice. "I'm sick of being indoors, I can't stand it any longer. And I want to find Snake."

"Is he right in the head?" Colleen asked curiously, as Elizabeth left the mud. She rested on a stepping stone for a moment, and then hopped to the next one, ignoring the way it made her head pound. "I mean, he don't talk very much, 'n with what happened in the cell—"

"He's just as normal as you or me,” Elizabeth said, and Emily slid out of the rhododendrons to lift her head and study Elizabeth, curiously. Colleen froze, and a curious sound came from her throat, like a rat being squashed. Elizabeth turned to look at her, and all the blood had fled her face. "You can go back inside, if you like."

"Right,” Colleen said, and while she didn't run back into the house, she did walk very quickly. Elizabeth -looked down at Emily, and cleared her throat.

"Is Snake nearby?"

Emily hissed, and turned, moving in a smooth curving motion along the dirt beside the stepping stones. Elizabeth followed, slowly, crossing her arms tight over her chest. The dressing gown, made of heavy brocade, kept the cold out wonderfully, but her feet were bare and the mud and stone was chilling her toes. There was a pond, she realized, hearing the tinkle of water from somewhere, and the roses were blooming, great fat white blossoms. There were red ones too, the two bushes deeply entwined, exactly the kind she'd imagined blooming around the pavilion on the lawn of the Phantomhive estate. She paused and looked at them for a moment, wondering why that made her heart clench, before Emily hissed again, and she followed the snake down the path to the little pond.

Snake was sitting on the bench beside the pond, watching the water with a blank expression. There was a tiny snake twined around his wrist. He looked haggard, as though he'd aged a hundred years. Emily hissed at him in greeting, swarming up his leg to rest in his lap, and Elizabeth watched him quietly as he stroked the snake's head with a sad smile. Then he looked around, and started to stand, his eyes widening. "My lady—"

"Stay there. You'll disturb her." Snake hesitated, looking down at Emily again, and Elizabeth took her chance. She sat next to him on the bench, not close enough to be improper—though considering whose house she was staying in, who really cared about proper?—but not far enough away to seem like she was avoiding him either. She kept her back to the pond, watching the windows. She could see Bard through one of them, arguing with someone out of sight. It reminded her of when she'd been little, and watching the exact same thing happen at the Phantomhive estate. "I'm glad you're doing all right, Snake."

Snake shifted, awkwardly. "Thank you, my lady. Says Emily." He cocked his head to one side. "You should be asleep, my lady. It's not good for you to be out here in the cold."

"I don't want to be inside anymore,” she said again, and for some reason that silenced him. She rubbed her wrist, absently. They'd been bandaged too. She wondered how bad they had looked after everything. "Are you all right, Snake? Colleen says you haven't left the garden in days."

Snake didn't speak. Emily nudged his fingers, lightly, but he didn't react at all, and Elizabeth turned to look at him. "Snake, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, my lady. Says Dan." His fingers lifted to his throat, brushing the skin there, and when Elizabeth copied him she felt more bandages.  _That's right. I forgot._  He'd attacked her, hadn't he? "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Snake." She reached out, touched his wrist, and she felt him flinch even at that light touch. "Even though I'm not…Even though Ciel and I aren't engaged any more, that doesn't mean anything has changed between us. I still think you're a fine footman. I know you wouldn't have attacked me if you'd been in your right mind."

Snake stared at her, his eyes widening. Elizabeth dropped her hand back into her lap, and stared back. "They killed Wilde, didn't they?"

He didn't speak. He couldn't look at her. His hands were shaking as he folded them together and set them in his lap, behind Emily, and Emily nudged her head against his fingers. She realized he was trembling, and wondered if anybody had asked. If anybody had really noticed.

"Yes,” he said, and his eyes were wet. "Yes."

"I'm sorry,” she said. Elizabeth wavered. Then she set her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. Snake was stiff as a board, hardly breathing. She wondered if anybody ever really touched him, or if they reached forward and then retreated to whisper. "I'm sorry, Snake. I'm sorry."

He covered her hand with his. Snake closed his eyes and cried, quietly, as the sun set in an angry blaze of orange and purple. Elizabeth did not move away.

* * *

 

When she finally came back inside, Emily was wrapped around her throat like a scarf, and Snake was following her like a shadow, his eyes red-rimmed, but inside once more. He bowed to her, deeply, before heading back upstairs, leaving the viper in her care, and Elizabeth wondered if she'd been the only person to go out and check on him. She really doubted Sebastian would have, considering Ciel's state. Ciel himself may have, but he hadn't seen Snake rocking back and forth in that little room; he wouldn't have known what was wrong. And frankly she doubted Colleen or Bard would have gone out to check on him, Colleen because of the scaled creatures, Bard because he didn't seem to like Snake very much. She went into the kitchen next, and Bard roared with delight when he saw her on her feet; he looked very much like he wanted to hug her, but Emily gave him a bit of pause. "Probably better that I didn't, anyway," he said after directing her to a chair and shoving a plate of food in front of her. It had probably been made by Sebastian; she'd never seen Bard cook anything without burning it. She didn't have much of a stomach, but she forced down enough to keep him from prodding at her, and when he wasn't looking slid part of the meat into her napkin for Emily the way she'd done at the Parkers' table.

She was finishing off her tea—the only thing she could really drink, with her stomach upset the way it was—when the white-haired Indian man stepped into the kitchen, and she stared at him with wide eyes. He bowed to her, deeply, hands pressed together. "I am glad to see that you are finally awake, Miss. Are you feeling better?"

Her whole body was aching, her stomach was lurching, and she still felt trembly from the blood loss, but there was no call to be rude. "Agni." She wobbled to her feet, clinging to the back of the chair with maybe a tighter grip than she usually would have used, but that didn't matter. "It's wonderful to see you! I thought I heard your voice."

"Miss is too kind." He smiled a little. Elizabeth returned it as best she could. She hadn't seen Agni since she'd been in the south of France; Prince Soma had been traveling around the world, and they'd run into each other in Marseille by chance. For two weeks it had been impossible to get the Prince out of their flat. Papa hadn't minded; he and the prince had managed to get along famously. "My lord Phantomhive summoned us a few nights ago after the terrible events of the weekend. How are you feeling?"

"Not as well as I could be." She dismissed that with a wave. "Then the prince  _is_ back in England! I'm so glad, we've missed him." In spite of everything that had happened over the past few weeks, she felt her heart get a bit lighter. She'd liked Prince Soma, and she'd liked how he treated Ciel, not like a Phantomhive or like a child, but like a friend and an equal. Maybe even a lesser being, which was good for Ciel. He was altogether too arrogant; much more so than he used to be.

Then something processed. Elizabeth frowned a bit. "Ciel  _summoned_  you both?"

"Not precisely. He requested a doctor, and the prince decided to visit as well." Agni hesitated, and then said, "Miss, you should sit down again; you lost a great deal of blood according to my lord Phantomhive, and you should be eating."

"I'm not all that hungry." She sat down anyway, and Emily slid back up her arm to hiss in Agni's direction. The Indian man's eyes widened a bit, but he must have seen Snake wandering around, because he didn't comment on the viper. "I want to hear all about what's happened since I've last seen you two! I can't believe you're here, this is—it's mad! How is he, Agni? How are you both? I kept meaning to write, but I didn't know where to send a note or anything—"

"Agni, did you find any chutney?" It was the prince; he leaned through the door, and he was halfway to the cupboard before he noticed Elizabeth sitting in the chair; his eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he leapt forward, taking both her hands in his own. " _Amar bon_! Elizabeth, you look so skinny and pale! What on earth has that beast of a fiancé of yours been doing to you?"

Emily hissed. Soma pulled his face back, and his grin widened until it looked like a slice of the sun. "A mystical guardian! Whose is she?"

"The footman's."

God bless Soma for simply accepting that as normal. "My dear, you look like Manasa wearing a snake like that! I brought a statue of her with me, I think you would like it—" Soma tightened his grip on her hands, and began to step back, drawing her up out of her chair. Agni set a hand on his shoulder, and lightly shook his head.

"Sir, the lady is still not feeling well; shall I go upstairs and collect the statue for her perusal?"

"Oh." Soma looked at her, stricken, like a small child, and dropped her hands. "I'm sorry, Lizzy, I forgot. Ciel dragged you into one of his nasty schemes."

"I dragged myself,” she said, and smiled. "And I would love to see the statue, Agni, thank you."

He bowed, glanced at Soma one last time for confirmation, and when Soma nodded, he left the room. Elizabeth heard the creaking of the stairs, a burst of soft voices, and then nothing. She turned back to Soma. "You should have written, I didn't know you were back in England!"

"We only just came back last week, I would have called but when I sent a card around your mother told me you weren't there." He lowered his voice, putting his face close to hers. "Is she always such a battle-axe? She was quite frightening."

"My aunt is always frightening, Prince Soma, even when she's in the best of moods." It was Ciel; he rested his shoulder against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest, watching them with a suspicious expression. Elizabeth didn't dare meet his eyes as Soma bounded up out of his chair, a scowl on his usually cheerful face.

"What on earth happened, Ciel? I've told you a thousand times that ladies, especially ladies such as your fiancée, must be  _protected_  from this sort of thing. And now here she is, all beaten and bedraggled, she looks like a waif that's been pulled from the ocean! I don't like it at all."

"First of all, you've never told me anything of the sort. And secondly, Elizabeth put herself in this state, Soma, as she would probably tell you if you let her get a word in edgewise." There was a layer of resentment in his voice, and Elizabeth wondered if Soma had bothered to mention the two weeks in Marseille, or if he had forgotten and irritated Ciel all the time she'd been asleep by referring to her by her given name with no explanation. Of course, it may have just been Ciel being irritable as usual. "And  _thirdly_ , like I've been telling you all week, we are no longer engaged."

For some reason, he didn't take his eyes off of her. There were marks like dark bruises under them, like he hadn't slept. Elizabeth chewed the inside of her cheek until it hurt, and didn't meet his gaze. Finally, he looked away from her.

"So you keep saying." Soma huffed, and looked at Elizabeth, waiting for confirmation. When she nodded, his expression collapsed, like a soufflé someone had stuck a pin into. He frowned at them both. "How on earth did that happen?"

"I don't see, frankly, how it's any of your business,  _Prince_ Soma,” Ciel said caustically, and he glanced at Elizabeth again as though searching for backup. Then he remembered, and looked quickly away. "Elizabeth, may I speak with you?"

"About what?" She made sure to keep her voice chilly. "About the note you sent to my parents?"

"No, it's…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Please?"

She studied him for a long moment, trying to find a manipulation in his face, but there was nothing, only awkwardness. Then she stood, and kissed Soma's cheek, lightly, before smiling. "I'll be back in a little bit. And I'm sorry, I don't think there's any chutney."

His face fell a bit, and he glared at Ciel. "Some way to treat guests in your house,  _Phantomhive_."

"I didn't know you would be coming in the first place,  _your highness_ ,” Ciel retorted, and left the room. Elizabeth took a breath before she followed him, Emily hissing in her ear.

He'd vanished into the sitting room. Elizabeth shut the door behind her (well, mostly; she left it open a crack to make sure that they were skimming the edge of propriety) and then settled on one of the nearest chairs, uncomfortable with standing when her knees were so untrustworthy. Her toes were brown, she realized, looking down at them; she'd walked in more mud than she'd thought. Ciel stood by the window, pulling the curtains closed, and he winced a bit as he lifted his left arm. Colleen's voice whispered in the back of her mind.  _I don't like him much, but he looked like all kinds of hell and he still came t'check on you, so I guess that's something._

"I'm…glad you're awake,” Ciel said suddenly, without looking at her, his fingers still wrapped tight around the thick curtains. Elizabeth blinked at him. "The doctor wasn't sure why you were sleeping so long, since the blow to your head wasn't dangerous."

 _Your butler hypnotized me_. It was on the tip of her tongue, but in here, with all the lights burning and the room brightly lit and the rattle of carriages outside, it sounded silly even in her head.  _Doesn't mean it's not true_ , a voice whispered, and she ignored it. If she asked about all that now, Ciel would shut his mouth like a clam and not open it again for hours. Same if she asked about anything to do with the words  _demon_ ,  _contract_ , and  _seal._

It was awkward, she realized, being alone with him, especially because she was probably the cause of the black eye. She stared at him, trying to keep her face straight, trying to find some anger or  _something_  to carry her through this, but she was so tired, all she could manage was sadness. She sighed. "Mama always said I have a hard head."

Ciel didn't smirk. He let go of the curtains, and crossed to the couch opposite hers, standing behind it rather than taking a seat. His nails dug into the furniture. "I should be angry with you,” he said.

She just watched him, waiting. Ciel continued. "I should be  _furious_  with you. I don't understand why I'm not. I should want to strangle you right now, Elizabeth, for being so damn reckless, for everything, but I can't…I can't find the anger. I should be able to, but I can't."

 _I should hate you. I should despise you. But I can't do that either._ "If you brought me in here just to pat me on the head and say you forgive me because I clearly did the wrong thing, then I am going to break your nose,” Elizabeth said. Ciel shook his head.

"I wouldn't dream of it. There's nothing to forgive."

She sat back and looked at him, stunned. He continued. "And anyway, I learn fast. You don't need to hit me more than once."

She snorted at that one. "So you must have changed since February, because the fact that I challenged you to a duel over all of this  _months_  ago clearly didn't work."

His eye narrowed. Elizabeth wondered if he could even really see out of it; it was an impressive bruise. "I didn't bring you in here to talk about that."

"What exactly did you expect, Ciel?" She clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the sting of pain in her arms. "Did you expect me to just roll over and forgive you like I'm some trained monkey? Because I don't think I ever _can_ forgive you for any of this, for treating me the way you have. I  _refuse_ to forgive you, and I will probably always refuse, so don't you  _dare—_ "

"For God's sake, Elizabeth, I'm not expecting you to forgive me!"

"I  _tried_ ," she shouted at him, "I tried for  _months_  to show you that I am  _not_ who I was and the  _instant_ it starts being inconvenient for you, you throw it all in my face, you  _break my heart_  and I am  _never_ going to forgive you for that, Ciel Phantomhive! Why can't you see that I am  _not_  Little Lizzy anymore?"

"Would you believe me if I said because I'm an idiot?" he said, in a cool, brittle voice. "Probably not, but it's the truth, so please stop shouting."

She heard him, and the words sent little shockwaves through the Numbness, but she ignored him. "You  _are_ an idiot! You saw who I was, you saw what I could do, and you ignored it and you tripped yourself up and frankly you almost ruined your own investigation because you  _wouldn't let me participate_! And every single time you did that you put yourself in more danger and you put me in the fire and it was  _selfish_ and  _arrogant_  and _absolutely ridiculous_  and I am  _furious with you and I don't care who knows it_! And you have no idea—" Her voice broke a little bit, and she felt the pressure behind her eyes, like muddy water in a dam. "You have no idea how  _sick_  I am of being angry, because it twists everything. It makes everything impossible. I'm not—I'm not good at being angry."

"An angry man opens his mouth and shuts his eyes," said Ciel, and when she stared at him, dumbfounded that he was even speaking, he added, "Cato," as though this was an excuse. Her nails scraped against her palms as she closed her fists tighter, tighter, tighter.

"What did you bring me in here for, Ciel?" she snapped, and she heard the door creak a little bit and she knew that probably everyone in the house was peering through the crack, but she didn't much care anymore. Around her neck, Emily hissed. "What was it you wanted to say? Because I can't…I can't spend that much time with you. Not now. Not after everything. And if you lie to me now, I swear to you, I will get up and I will walk out that door, and you will  _never_  see me again." Her voice shook a bit. She hardened it. "I swear that on Aunt Anne's grave. If you lie to me, if you don't give me a decent explanation, then this, right here, this is the end. Because you are  _not_  the Ciel I remember."

He stared at her for a long moment. Elizabeth took one final breath, and finished. "You know I'll do it. Because even if—even if I still loved you, I can't trust you anymore. And that matters more than anything else."

Ciel clenched his hands into fists, and looked away from her for a long moment. Elizabeth put a hand up to her throat and stroked Emily, trying to soothe the snake out of strangling her. Finally, he stepped back from the couch, turning his back on her again, and she wondered if he could look her in the face any longer.

"All right,” he said, in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it. "All right."

Elizabeth kept stroking Emily's head. Ciel had to breathe for a little while before he finally spoke again.

"You remember when I brought Colleen to you?"

"Yes." It was impossible to forget.

"Do you remember what I told you about my work?"

"You told me that all this…it contaminates people. That's why you didn't want me working on the case."

"Exactly." He sounded relieved he didn't have to say it again. "Liz—Elizabeth, the Director is insane, but he was right when he told you that you're too…you're not suited for this sort of work. He said you're too innocent, and…and he was right. Please don't say anything," he added, as she opened her mouth. "If you talk I'm never going to finish."

Elizabeth closed her mouth on her objections, and waited. Ciel took another breath, saying each word carefully, as though he was weighing them individually in his mouth. "Elizabeth, you're—you're one of the few people in the world who sees good in everyone. It's…it draws people to you. I don't think you understand just how powerful that is. It's why Colleen's so loyal to you after just a month. It's why I—" He stopped, suddenly. "Doing…this, you lose that. You lose it so fast, it's like it's…torn away from you. You have to…you have to assume the worst. Of everyone. You can't stay…you can't stay the way you are, if you join this work. You…you'll lose that."

He slowed down, awkward now. Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time he'd ever said anything like this, to anyone, especially not to her. Ciel didn't talk like this. He didn't get this awkward; he didn't look at her out of the corner of his eye like he was wary of what she was going to say, like he  _wanted approval,_ and the change scared her a bit. It also reminded her of the old Ciel, before he learned how to be proud, and that kept her mouth shut. He inhaled again. "And you've always…you've always been able to do that. So for you to lose that…you wouldn't be Elizabeth anymore. Not really. You've…you've changed so much already, the idea of you losing that too…"

He trailed off, uncomfortably. It was only when Elizabeth tried to say something that he spoke again. "I know that—I know I don't have any control over you. I know I can't…tell you to do anything, and I know you're different. You have no idea how much I know that." Pause. "I don't…I don't like change, Lizzy. I never have. You're the same, but you're…different than you were. I don't know if it was the training or the fact that you're just not wearing a mask any longer, but you're  _different_. And I know that even if I try to stop you you're going to ignore me, because even after…"  _the broken engagement_. The words hung like a guillotine between them. "You still pushed and nosed around and managed to get yourself hurt, and I don't know what I…" He cleared his throat. He still hadn't looked her in the face. "You're going to get hurt again, and I'm not going to be able to stop you. You're going to keep doing this, and I'm not going to be able to stop you, and I know that. But—but I brought you in here, and I'm telling the truth, I brought you in here to ask if…if you would at least…"

Silence. Elizabeth swallowed, hard, and burned holes into his back with her eyes. "What precisely are you trying to ask me, Ciel? Just…ask me the question."

His fingernails dug into the wood of the mantelpiece. There was a long pause. Then he said it, piece by piece, and she could hear the effort he put into it. "I would like to ask if you would…rejoin…the investigation. Elizabeth. I'm not…ordering you to. And I know that after…you may not want to. But…I wanted to ask. Because I don't think…" Another stop, and finally he spat it out. "Because I need your help. I need—"

— _you._ The word fell between them like a stone, like the first few raindrops into a still pond. She sat stone still, and the world burned against her like a branding iron.  _I need you._ Ciel did not like talking this much, first of all. Ciel  _loathed_  talking this much, especially about anything he felt or what he thought. In the years since he'd come back with Sebastian at his side, he'd never been so open with her. He'd never actually told her anything that he thought or felt about  _anything_ , because he'd always been such an expert at deflection. But now he was talking and she honestly had no idea what to do about it, or even what to feel in this avalanche of information that she would spend hours analyzing, she was sure. He'd just done the unthinkable. He'd just admitted to needing help. And she had absolutely no clue what to say.

Elizabeth stood, sharply, and ignored the swamp of dizziness that swept across her mind. Ciel turned and looked at her, waiting, and she wet her lips.

"I don't know." It was the only thing she could think to say. It was the only thing that made sense. "I…I don't know. I don't  _know._ "

She bundled herself up in the dressing gown, and left the room, and if she saw Soma and Bard and Agni scuttle around the corner in an effort not to be seen, she didn't much care. Elizabeth darted back up the stairs and shut herself quietly in the guest room, pulling the Chinese puzzle box out from under the bed to study.

It was only when a teardrop spattered on the dark wood of the dragon's egg that she realized she was crying, and that she couldn't make herself stop.

* * *

 

It was Agni who came out and found him a few hours later. He rather thought it would have been Sebastian, but Sebastian hadn't been quite up to wandering around yet; his powers had been siphoned off by the seal, he'd said, and he was slowly regaining them, but at the same time he was irritable, crotchety and unwilling to leave the house. It was the first time Sebastian had been anything other than mind-numbingly polite (even caustically so) to everyone around him.

Ciel scowled at the sight of him, and tugged one of the roses off the bush to drop into the pond. "I've told Soma we don't have any chutney and I'm not going to send anyone out to buy some, so can you get him to shut up about it?"

"My apologies, my lord, but I am not here about that." Agni bowed once, and then straightened and tucked his hands into his sleeves, the way Lau was wont to do. It startled him a bit. "I came to inquire if you were feeling all right, my lord."

He let his voice turn to acid. "And why, precisely, would I be feeling unwell?"

"If you'll forgive me, my lord, but we all heard the argument." Agni studied him carefully with his greyish eyes. Ciel snarled under his breath, and wished he could tear up the blasted rosebushes. They kept pricking him.

"I don't want to talk about it, Agni."

"I understand, my lord." Agni hesitated, turning. "May I speak freely?"

"About what?"

"What occurred to break off the engagement…that is none of my business." He wavered for a moment. "But I wished to say, my lord, about this evening…I think you did well."

The bubble of anger broke, and sent a wave of frustration through every part of him. It burned as it went, like hot oil. He kicked a bit of turf, but all that did was make his foot hurt. "I did well at acting like an  _idiot_ , you mean! I shouldn't have asked her to help, of all the stupid, hare-brained,  _ridiculous—_ "

"Why not?" Agni asked in a soft voice, and Ciel whirled on him.

" _Because it made me look weak!_  Because it was  _me_ that broke the engagement and for me to come crawling back to her now makes me look like a fool! Because—" He bit his tongue, pulling his voice back under control, always under control. "Because to ask her now, after everything, will just make it all worse."

Agni remained quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, and there was an unreadable expression on his face. "On the contrary, my lord. Asking for help is one of the hardest things any man—or woman, for that matter—can do in this world. You're not weak. You're stronger for the asking. That, my lord, I can promise you."

Ciel stared at him. Agni smiled mysteriously, and added. "It is difficult, sometimes, my lord, to uncover which path is the right one. The Buddha says there are two mistakes one can make while traveling the road of truth—the first is not going all the way, collapsing by the wayside and proclaiming yourself finished when you have only just begun to see. The second is not starting at all."

He grimaced. "What does that matter?"

"We all follow paths, my lord, and sometimes it seems as though everything is against us. We make choices, and sometimes those choices are mistakes. We hurt others, as you have done. The only thing that is constant is change. In order to see all through, the thing we need most is courage, and the willingness to seek the truth." He set a hand on Ciel's shoulder. "I believe you have started your first step, my lord, and as difficult as it is, it is a path of your choosing. Follow it to its end and see what you will uncover."

Then Agni left. Ciel did not come back into the house for hours, and when he did, he was unnaturally quiet. He scoffed a bit when Sebastian asked if anything was wrong, but that night he lay awake, and turned the words over and over in his mind. He wasn't entirely sure why he did. He just did.

_We make choices, and sometimes these choices are mistakes. The thing we need most is courage, and the willingness to seek the truth._

It was something, at least. Ciel rolled over, staring at the eye patch on his bedside table until he fell asleep.


	23. His Cousin, Recovering

It was Colleen who brought her the note.

She'd moved back in with the Middlefords, at Mama's insistence. It had shocked just about everyone in the house—Whittacker the most, Elizabeth was inclined to think—but the only thing Frances would say when questioned on the matter was, "She kept my daughter alive. The least we can do for the girl is to give her someplace to stay."

It had been impossible to oust Soma from their house either. Not that anybody really wanted to; as annoying and as selfish as Soma could sometimes be, he still reminded her so very much of a small, well-intentioned child, who could switch from arrogant to devastatingly sweet in a matter of seconds. When the gash across her ribs finally healed enough for her to ride again without worrying about tearing stitches, he was always the one to drag her away from the papers and out onto the hills. They never raced—she wasn't healed quite enough for that—but it came close enough. Edward joined them sometimes, and it began to become a habit, the three of them with Agni trotting alongside, just…talking. Things felt easier than they had in a very long time.

Soma and Edward were getting along famously, which was the surprising thing. She could remember walking in on them arguing about the Viceroy of India a little over a week after being ferried off to the Middleford Estate for recuperation (because it wouldn't do for anyone to see her wincing and bruised as though she'd been assaulted in the street). Edward had been staunch in his defense of the Viceroy, Soma had been just as stalwart against, but after only a few minutes they'd settled on a compromise and moved on to another topic, and Elizabeth had had to grip the edge of the door to keep herself from falling over. Because Edward  _never_ backed down from a fight, and, from what she could remember, Soma was as stubborn as a goat. And then the ice had been broken, and when Edward wasn't working, he was probably debating with Soma over  _something_ , and it made her heart feel too full. She couldn't remember the last time Edward had had a friend that had nothing to do with work.

It was nearly May—and thus the beginning of the Season—when Colleen knocked on her door. She didn't wait for Elizabeth to call an assent before opening it. "Note for you,” Colleen said, and tossed it on top of the _Times_  before flopping onto the nearest sofa. She fingered the trim around her wrists, as though she couldn't quite believe they existed. Nina had dropped by again, to adjust all of Elizabeth's necklines (ugly scars on collarbone and shoulder did little to attract those of the male gender). She'd brought over a load of new dresses for Colleen, too, ones she'd been working n in secret the whole time Colleen had stayed with her. When they'd been unveiled, Colleen had burst into tears and flung herself into Nina's arms. It was the first time that Elizabeth had seen Colleen cry, and it made her uncomfortable and heartsick.

"Oh." She slit the envelope. It was made of cheap paper, and the handwriting was unfamiliar; there were only a few sentences.  _Same place, same time this Saturday. Bring the box._  Lau's signature was loopy and ornate, and underneath it he wrote his name in Chinese. Elizabeth reached up to her collarbone and rubbed the scar there, thoughtfully, as she read through the note again, and opened her locked desk drawer, where she'd been keeping the Chinese puzzle box. She'd poured over it any number of times during her convalescence, trying to figure out how it worked, but all she'd managed to work out was that there was a leaf on the corner that was raised slightly higher than the rest of the inlaid pattern. She had no more idea about how to open the damn thing than she'd had when she'd found it in the vase in Cutter's study.

She'd been keeping an eye on the papers, and asked Edward to nudge his network into watching Cutter and the others for her. He hadn't been happy about it—of course he hadn't—but he'd been dropping notes onto her desk for the past few weeks, all with the same message.  _No movement from anyone_. Either the Zodiac was operating very, very quietly, or they hadn't been doing anything at all. The newspapers still hadn't shut up about the "gruesome Cutter Mansion Massacre," which she'd read about at breakfast a few mornings after coming out to the manorhouse and nearly had a heart attack. Collins was dead, and Anderson, Davies, Cook, Langston, old Michael Gillian, and worst of all, Damian Beddor.

They went to his funeral, Elizabeth buttoned up in a black gown that covered her to the throat and hidden away in a hat with a black lace veil, and held Rebecca as she cried, and felt like the most despicable human being on the planet. But what could she say? _I'm sorry, I think it's my fault your father's dead, pass the sugar?_  Rebecca didn't know about the Zodiac, she was certain of it, and the rest of society was under the impression that Elizabeth was recovering from a bad fall off of her horse, not a fight to the death in underground caverns beneath Cutter's manor. When she told her father about Beddor's activities, he said nothing, but his eyes grew shadowed, and that shadow was still there when he spoke over the coffin.

There had been no viewing of the body. Elizabeth did not ask why.

She was absolutely certain that the Zodiac had been killed by the Director. There was no one else—other than Sebastian—who would have been able to kill so many people "without leaving a single mark," and Sebastian had been the one to carry her out of the tunnels in the first place. Unless he could split himself into two beings at once, there was no way he could have gone back and killed the Zodiac. Unless Ciel had ordered them killed when they'd gone back to steal the tonic that she was still sipping, waiting for the spider bites to fade. They were almost gone, which was good; she was almost out of tonic, and she doubted she would be able to get her hands on more anytime soon.

Elizabeth tapped the note lightly against her lips, thinking. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Lau would have more information for her about the letters in Beddor's box. She let out a breath, and fed the note and its envelope into the fire before glancing at Colleen. "Have you ever heard of a man named Lau?"

Colleen's brow creased, and she shook her head. "Not that I can remember."

"He's the head of the British branch of a Chinese trading company, Kunlun, but he's also an opium dealer with underworld connections, probably to the Chinese mafia." She rubbed her palms together, the lace gloves rasping against each other. "I'm going to see him tomorrow."

"You want me to come along?"

"No. I trust Lau, and he's asked me to come alone. He's an associate of Ciel's; there's no reason to think he might hurt me. Besides, I have something he wants." Elizabeth frowned. "And I'm almost certain Papa will let me go, as long as I take my special parasol and I'm careful."

"Why're you tellin' me then?"

"As backup. Just in case."

Colleen grimaced. "You sure you don't want me to come?"

"Positive. He'll only talk in gibberish if I bring someone along." That would be just like Lau, after all. "I'll be fine, Colleen. If I leave early enough I'll be back by three or four and then I'll probably have some more information."  _If the letters don't turn out to be totally useless._  Elizabeth set a hand on Colleen's shoulder, lightly, before adding, "Besides, I'm sure you won't mind missing deportment lessons tomorrow. We'll start up again the day after, though."

"Damn you to hell,” Colleen said cheerfully, and left in a swirl of blue. Elizabeth stared at the couch where she'd been, sighed, and glanced back at her desk where she'd drafted a note to Ciel refusing to help. It would be better for all of them if she just didn't see him anymore. She could remember the look on her parents' faces when she'd clambered out of Soma's carriage, bruised and bleeding. Edward had hugged her hard enough to make her yelp. Her mother had been close behind, cupping Elizabeth's face in her hands and nearly shouting, in a shaking voice, that she  _never_ do something like this again. Elizabeth had never seen Frances so open or terrified in her life, and it had frightened her. And the mix of relief and disappointment on Papa's face had drowned her in guilt, and she'd burst into tears all over again on the sidewalk, in front of the whole world.

She brushed imaginary dust off of her skirt, mostly to hide the fact that her hands were trembling, and went to talk to her parents.

* * *

 

The air in the funeral parlor tasted different, like someone had left fruit in one of the coffins to sour and spoil. Someone had thrown a rock through one of the windows. The glass crunched under her shoes when she shut the door behind her, and Elizabeth tightened her grip on the handle of her rapier parasol. Edward was waiting outside in the carriage, a stipulation of her coming out to meet Lau; she could only hope his disguise as a taxi driver was as convincing as it had seemed. "Hello?"

There was a fluttering of cloth and a soft thump, and Ran-Mao dropped down from where she'd been clinging to the roof. Elizabeth stifled a shriek, backing up so fast that she hit the door, and stared up at the ceiling. There were two marks in it, as though someone had dug blades into the wood and held on.  _But that would take incredible strength._  She knew no one strong enough to hold themselves perfectly straight against the ceiling just by their  _arms_.

 _Ran-Mao is to be feared_ , something whispered inside of her, and quite frankly Elizabeth agreed with it. The Chinese girl tilted her head, and turned to retreat into the back room. Elizabeth followed, and wondered if insisting on speaking to Lau alone had been the best idea after all.

The back room was altogether much cleaner than the front. Someone had picked it up, wiped the dust away, and quietly converted it into a hideaway. There even seemed to be a cot in the corner, but that was folded down and untouched. Lau was sitting at the hardwood table, and there was a small cast iron kettle resting in front of him, steam trickling out of the top. He looked up at her, and his eyes creased with a smile. "You're on time again. Marvels never cease. How are you?"

"Much better than I could have been." Ran-Mao tucked herself behind Lau's chair, her hands curling around the back, and Elizabeth hesitated before taking the chair opposite. She held the Chinese puzzle box on her lap. "Though it was only a fall off a horse."

"A very quick horse, then, if you're only just recovering," said Lau lightly. Elizabeth didn't smile. She was quite certain that through simple questions or subtle eavesdropping Lau knew  _exactly_  what had happened in Cutter's manorhouse, and she wasn't in the mood to play his games.

"It was, actually." Elizabeth slid the Chinese puzzle box onto the table, and Lau's eyes lit up. He actually rubbed his palms together in anticipation before taking it, running his fingers over it and weighing it in his hands, curiously.

"You've done  _beautifully_." He held it up to his ear, and then smiled. "And the contents aren't even broken. Superb work, Miss Middleford, truly."

"You said you would get a closer look at the letters?"

"Ah." Lau set the box down on the table between them, and a secret smile curved his lips. "That I did. I think I did you one better, Miss Middleford. Ran-Mao, will you get them?"

Elizabeth's eyes nearly popped. "You didn't steal them."

"No, but there are such things as pen and paper, Miss Middleford. I copied them while you and my tiny lord Phantomhive were off gallivanting with swords and…fast horses, I think you said?" Ran-Mao dug into a bag, and returned, a small box in her hand; it was ornately carved with a pair of tigers, batting at each other, snarling. Lau ducked his head in a small bow as he presented it to her, still smiling. "This is also a puzzle box, Miss Middleford. I find them quite handy."

"There is the problem of opening them,” Elizabeth added pointedly, not taking the box, and he laughed a bit.

"You're both always so  _stern_." He set the box on the table, pressed his fingers into the first tiger's head and a small bird on the side, and there was a click. "First click, that's good." His fingers shifted, to a paw, and he pushed that in too; there was another click and the thing opened. "Voila."

Letters. There had to be at least two dozen of them, and as she paged through them, there were words that she recognized—automata, Parker, Director—and others that she didn't. Some she could barely even read, let alone pronounce. She thumbed through a few more and spotted some names that made her eyebrows go up. "Beddor was having an affair?"

"Now, that, really, is none of my business, especially now that the man is dead." Lau waved that away, but he slanted a pleased look at Elizabeth and added, "On the other hand, it may be of extreme interest to you, which is why I included  _all_ of the letters in that box."

She sifted through them one more time before she settled them back in the box. She didn't close it. "This is wonderful. Thank you."

"You do something for me, Miss Middleford, and I do something for you. It's the basis of trade." He leaned back in his chair. "A brilliant concept, really. Like bicycles."

He was such a strange man. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, not entirely certain of what to say. "Quite."

"Oh, don't be so stiff, my dear Miss Elizabeth, it's unbecoming." He frowned. "You were fast on your way to becoming my favorite coworker, but if you keep going down this path I'm afraid that's all going to off."

"Hush,” Elizabeth said, and glanced at the topmost letter. "C.F. Was this a woman's handwriting?"

"It was. I would have taken a photograph for you, but even with my quick scribbling skills I had very little time." Lau drummed his fingers against the table, and Elizabeth wondered why neither of them had left yet. She should have closed the box and stood at least two minutes ago, but something was holding her to the chair. "To be fair, Ran-Mao helped me. Didn't you, kitten?"

Ran-Mao said nothing, just inclined her head.

"And Ciel has no idea?"

"Not unless you tell him." Which she wouldn't, unless it became necessary. Elizabeth closed the box. The lid snapped into place with a reassuringly loud  _click_ , and she tucked it into her bag. "Which may not be the best idea, considering the lengths I had to go to in order to get into that room for enough time to copy everything out. The maid Maylene will be infinitely pleased, I think, to never see me again in her life."

 _Oh, dear._  Elizabeth didn't ask. She cleared her throat, wavered for a moment, and then made herself stand and say, "Thank you very much, Lau."

"Of course. Thank  _you_ , Miss Middleford. Please give my regards to Ciel."

Elizabeth froze, halfway into the front room. She turned very slowly, and shifted her hand so that her thumb was on the button that released the rapier from her umbrella. "Excuse me?"

"Hm?" Lau flicked a bit of lint off of his robe. "What is it?"

"Why would you tell me that?" Her heart was squeezing smaller, smaller, smaller. "I haven't spoken to Ciel in a month."

"Oh? My mistake. Only with…the horse accident…I thought you may have been working together. Clearly I was incorrect. My apologies, Miss Middleford, I won't do it again."

"He asked me to." It slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, and she wished she could seize the words and stuff them back inside, but they were out now and it was done. Lau's eyebrows lifted, quizzically. "He asked me to work with him."

"Did he now?" Lau smirked, as though she'd just given him something more precious than diamonds. "In my experience, you are of the lucky few, my dear, to be  _asked_. Usually Phantomhives instruct. Or order. They like ordering people about, have you noticed? Very much. We little people are not often given the chance to say  _no_."

"He shouldn't have asked me. Not after the engagement." Two months later and her stomach still clenched at the word. "He shouldn't have."

"But you wanted him to," said Lau, and damn him but he's right, because she wouldn't still be thinking about it otherwise. Two months since the engagement was broken, almost four since she returned from traveling, and she still had Ciel on her brain. Elizabeth shook her head, not in disagreement, but in an effort to knock him away.

"He shouldn't be affecting me this way. I don't like it." She glanced at Lau. "Why am I talking to you about this?"

"Because I can be a startlingly good listener if I care to be?" He sniffed. "Who else are you going to talk about it to, my dear Miss Middleford? Certainly not your parents. The Irish girl has made her feelings perfectly plain on the matter, I believe. So who else?"

He had a point there. "I don't know what I should do."

"The logical thing,” he replied, as though this was obvious. "Will it be easier for you to work together on the case than apart?"

"Probably, but—"

"Then what's stopping you? Other than a broken engagement and a shattered heart."

Elizabeth winced. "Please don't talk like that."

"Well, if you didn't want the truth, dear, then don't ask me. It's been a long time since I've become involved with any sort of romantic entanglement. I try to stay clear of them. Not good for business."

"It's not a romantic entanglement."

"Considering all those years, how can it not be?" He was prodding, and Ran-Mao was watching her unblinkingly. Elizabeth didn't really care. There was no way he could really hurt anyone with this information, not at all; the only thing he could do with it was torture Ciel, and since he'd already promised to keep this little partnership between them a secret, he had no ammunition there either.

"I don't know if it is or not,” she said, and something in her chest eased. "I should know. I should know if I love him, but I just…when I see him, all I feel is confused."

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs." When Elizabeth blinked, Lau grinned at her. "Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods. Love that is not madness—"

"Stop, now, please."

"—is not love." His expression changed, just slightly, and his voice softened. "The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or, rather, loved in  _spite_ of ourselves. Don't you agree?"

"I…" She bit her lip. "I don't know. I don't  _know_." Because Little Lizzy who loved so freely was gone. Maybe she'd never been. She still had no idea who she was, not really. Maybe not ever.

Someone touched her shoulder. Ran-Mao. The silent woman brushed a thumb across Elizabeth's cheek and showed her the tear, quizzically, as though she was wondering what it was. Elizabeth smiled, shaky. "I'm sorry. I'll stop now."

Lau stayed quiet for a long moment, watching them. Elizabeth took a breath, and straightened. "Well. I should go."

"There's something else, isn't there?" he asked. "Something else, some other question. You wouldn't be lingering so long otherwise." Elizabeth hesitated, and Lau quirked an eyebrow. "What is it, my dear?"

"You…you've eavesdropped on Ciel for years, haven't you?" A memory stirred in the back of her mind, one she had been turning over and over, considering and brainstorming and thinking of every possible meaning, and still been as confused and uncertain as when she'd first witnessed it. "So if…if I had an odd question, you might be able to answer it."

"Remember, my dear, there is a trade exchange."

"Of course. But only if you don't make me break into a Zodiac's house again."

He smiled. "Naturally."

Elizabeth took a breath, and let it out. She stole another, and her ribs pressed tight against her corset and sent an ache through the healing wound under her heart. She hadn't even brought this up to Colleen. Speaking to Lau about it seemed odd at best.

"Demons,” Elizabeth blurted. "I want to know about demons."

"Demons?" Lau's smile was a shade sharper than it had been before. "Fairy stories, little Lizzy Middleford. There is no such thing."

"But if there was." Her heart was pounding in her throat. "Who would I ask if…if I wanted to learn about them?"

Lau played with a curl of Ran-Mao's hair for a moment, contemplative. "Why on  _earth_ would a bright, happy child like you want to know more about demons?"

Elizabeth remained silent. Sebastian loomed in her mind's eye. "I…heard about them. Recently. And I was wondering if there was any truth to the stories."

He studied her for so long that she felt like she should have blushed. She was too wary to think about it. Lau stared, and Elizabeth stared back, and Ran-Mao tapped the bell against her throat, making it tinkle like the collar of a cat. Finally, Lau closed his eyes and sighed, dramatically. "Well, I suppose there is  _one_ man who might know something."

"And what would I owe you, if you were to find him for me?"

"Nothing." Elizabeth blinked at him. Lau was no longer smiling. There was not a trace of humor in his face "Except the answer to a simple question, Miss Middleford. Are you certain—are you quite certain—that you want to learn the truth?"

She opened her mouth. He lifted a hand. "Before you answer, think about it. Demons are not real. But if they were—if you knew that there were creatures in this world so black at heart, so evil, that they are made of the darkness itself—if you knew what they could do, if you learned how beautiful and terrible they can be—would you still be able to live with yourself? Would you be able to live knowing that the creatures your parents always told you were just stories were real, and cruel, and hungry?"

The funeral parlor felt very cold. She was suddenly conscious of the way air twisted in her lungs; the way her heart worked, pumping in double-time, pounding blood through her head and chest and limbs, never-ending, a constant presence, a reminder.  _I live. I am alive._  And she thought of Sebastian and his dried-blood eyes and the way he could destroy creatures that were immune to swords and bullets, the way he was trapped by Latin and iron, and she cleared her throat and said, "Yes." Simple, unadorned. "I need to know."

Lau gave her a terrible look, one that made her feel quite cold. Then he smiled one last time, and said, "I'll send you a note with the particulars. Thank you, Miss Middleford, for the puzzle box."

"Thank you," she replied, and stood tall as she left the funeral parlor. If she barreled into the carriage and stayed inside, shaking, until Edward drew to a halt outside their house, she never mentioned it again.

* * *

 

She closed herself in her room and read over the letters, and she pulled her notebook out of the drawer of her desk to scribble ideas and questions and things to remember. The singular form of automata was  _automaton_ , and she rolled the word in her mouth as best she could. She read through the letters from C.F. carefully, trying to find any clue to the woman's identity. Her first name was Caroline, she was certain of that from one of Beddor's drafted letters.  _Dearest Caroline_ , it read, and she felt wrong, sick to be reading this when the man was dead and she was friends with his daughter, but she still read them and read them again until she could recite them in her sleep.

It was her mother who revealed C.F., though, in the end. Or, rather, her mother's intelligence network. The start of the Season meant the start of her mother's dratted tea parties, and Elizabeth had to paste on a new fake smile for each one as the women crowded around her. Some of them brought their sons, and it was incredibly difficult not to bash these boys over the head with the nearest bookend. Without an engagement to protect her, this Season was going to be hell.

It was the third such event when the Fotheringhays appeared. Elizabeth sat next to Stephen, the boy who she'd danced with at the party where she'd met Felicity. He read mysteries, thank goodness, and they'd been talking about  _The Sign of the Four_  for a good half an hour before his mother arrived, late and dressed in black. Stephen stood, and kissed her cheek lightly. "We were wondering where you'd found yourself, Mother."

"It's not my fault the fitting took ages." His mother held her hands out to Frances. "Darling."

"Caroline, dear, it's wonderful to see you!" Frances stood, and took her hands. "I'm sorry to hear about your nephew. Have they found him yet?"

"Nathaniel? No." Nathaniel Fotheringhay. Elizabeth looked up and her eyes narrowed. "But if he'd been with the others, they would have found his…well, he would have been found. I'm sure he'll turn up soon." Caroline Fotheringhay turned, and smiled when she saw Elizabeth. "Darling, you're so grown up! The last time I saw you, you must have been twelve years old."

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I—"

"Oh, it was only for a moment, years ago now. You were rushing off somewhere." She reached forward, and cupped Elizabeth's cheek in her hand. "I want to say I'm sorry about the engagement, dear. I truly am."

Elizabeth blinked. No one had actually come out and said that to her face. It was something to be tiptoed around, and judging by the shocked noises from the gaggle of women around them, not something to be mentioned at all at this late date. But Caroline kept her eyes on Elizabeth's, and finally Elizabeth relaxed. "I've recovered, I think, Mrs. Fotheringhay."

"If you need to talk to anyone about it, dear, please, come to me. I…" she lowered her voice. "The same unfortunate thing happened to me, once. I know how it can feel. Write to me if you feel the need, please?" Her eyes went a bit glassy. "I would feel simply terrible if I didn't help one of my fellow sex through a difficulty."

"Oh." Elizabeth hesitated. "Of course."

Caroline patted her cheek, tearfully, and walked away to join the older women at their sewing. Elizabeth stared after her in shock for a long moment. Stephen sat next to her, and smiled, wryly. "She takes people by surprise like that. Don't be alarmed."

"I—" Elizabeth flushed. "Sorry. I just—"

"It's all right." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I've always wondered how she does it. I suppose it's the natural family charisma. I don't have any," he added, before she could respond. "I have to get by on my knowledge of books."

Elizabeth couldn't help it. She laughed a bit, and touched his shoulder. "Some girls find books perfectly satisfactory, Mr. Fotheringhay, so don't worry about it."

He flushed agreeably pink.

"Why is she in all black, though?" Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows. "You're not."

"Oh, that." He shrugged a bit. "Um, she said that a close friend of hers from school died a few weeks ago. She's been in mourning ever since. No sense for the rest of us to overheat, she said." Stephen scratched his cheek. "It seems like everyone's dying lately. I don't know."

"It's summer. Summer does strange things to people." But her heartbeat kicked up a notch, and she drew a breath, wondering. "Was she serious?"

"There's never a time my mother isn't serious." He blinked. "Oh. That was callous, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

 _This boy reminds me so much of Rebecca sometimes it isn't even funny._  She patted his hand, smiling a bit. "Don't worry. I'm not angry with you." Her fingers tightened over his, and Stephen looked at her in surprise. "But tell me more about these deaths. I've been recovering from that horse accident, you remember, and I'm fairly  _desperate_  for news."

She found her father in his study, the way he usually was at ten in the evening, studying some papers. Elizabeth knocked, and he looked up at her, his face more lined than it had been before. Still, he offered a small smile when he saw her. He looked very tired. "Are you going to bed, my dear?"

"Yes. But I wanted to ask you something." She hesitated. "If I can."

"Of course." He pulled his glasses off and let them clatter against the desk, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I should stop soon anyway."

"What are you doing?"

"Going over what remains of the Beddor estate." Elizabeth closed the door behind her, and slipped into the chair opposite her father, pulling her knees up against her chest and linking her arms loosely around them. Alexis sighed, and to her shock she saw streaks of silver in his hair, on both temples. He looked suddenly older. "His widow asked if I would after the solicitor advised her to sell her shares in Beddor's trading company. I have to say I agree with him. Beddor was in a terrible state financially. They're going to be in a very bad way if someone doesn't take them in." He studied her for a moment. "I'm sorry, dear."

"I'm sorry too,” Elizabeth said in a soft voice. If she'd known that earlier, would she have told Beddor about her role as double-agent?  _I could have told him to run, to get out, hide in the Orient and not come back until the Director is dead_ , but he wouldn't have believed her. She was only a girl, and Beddor had been a knight of the realm. She doubted he would have even believed Ciel.

The closed casket haunted her.

"But that's not why you came in, is it?" said Papa, and Elizabeth snapped out of her reverie. He looked at her for a long moment, and smiled a little. "What is it, dear? You've been very quiet."

"I've been thinking." The words twisted up inside her. "About the engagement."

Her father went quite still for a moment. Then he closed his books, collected his papers, and tucked them all into his desk drawer before giving her his full attention. "Really."

"Yes." It was the first time any of them had mentioned it since it had happened, and Elizabeth's hands were trembling slightly. "I think I'm finally starting to understand why he did it. Ciel…he's very young, isn't he? He's very young and very old at once."

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him in a while."

"Just…I didn't tell you that we spoke, the last time I saw him. I'm still not sure if I…I think I know why he broke the engagement, but I can't…" she made a frustrated noise. "He asked me to help him with the investigation, Papa, and I don't know if I should, because I feel like it would be good for the people who need to be helped but I don't know if I can handle it and—"

"Come here," he said, and Elizabeth slipped out of her chair to stand in front of her father. He took her hands and squeezed them, lightly. "By all accounts, Lizzy, I can say that this question would  _never_  come up in any family but ours. But then again, we are a very strange family."

Elizabeth couldn't help it. She snorted. "I know that, Papa."

"I know you do." He smiled, and kissed her hand lightly. "Lizzy, you know your own mind better than any of us do. If you feel like you can't do it, then don't."

"That's the problem. I don't know if I can or if I should, and I just…" She took a breath and let it out. "I should know but I  _don't_. I should hate him, I should hate him for what he's done to me and to…to everyone, but I _can't_."

"Then don't," said Papa, simply, and Elizabeth goggled at him. "I'm the last person to ask if you want to be told to hate your cousin, dear. If you could go through your whole life without hating anyone, then I'll die a happy man. Hate eats away at you, turns you into something you're not, and I don't want to see you lose who you are over trouble and hardship. I'm very angry with him, as I'm sure you are, but hate…" He drew a breath and let it out. "Hate is another equation."

"Then what do I do?"

"Well, that's simple. You do what you feel is right. No one in the world can do anything more."

She wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed, trying very hard not to cry. "What if I don't know what's right?"

"That depends on who you're trying to help,” he said, and stood. "Who are you doing this for, Elizabeth?"

He hugged her, kissed the top of her head, and left her to her thoughts.

* * *

 

The start of the Season meant he had to come back to London. Smelly, foggy, damp and drafty, dratted, wretched London. Ciel stared out the window at the gas lamps outside with a frown on his face. It didn't particularly help that the house his father had bought all those years ago was close to the Middleford house; he'd seen his cousin Edward in the street when they'd pulled up, but thankfully Edward had not seen them, or if he had he'd decided to ignore them.

"My lord." Sebastian. Ciel didn't turn. "You have a letter, my lord. Hand delivered."

"Leave it on the table."

"It's urgent, my lord," he said, and something in Sebastian's voice made him turn. He recognized the handwriting even at this distance, and in spite of himself, he had to pause for a long moment before picking up the letter. He refused to look at Sebastian, who was most likely smirking.

"Thank you, Sebastian, that will be all."

"Are you certain, my lord?" Sebastian said, deceptively innocent. "Don't you want me to take down a reply?"

"I haven't even read it yet."

"But your face says so much, my lord."

 _Well, he's regained his sarcasm at least._ Ciel scowled at him, and waved him away. Sebastian bowed and vanished through the half open door. He waited until he was certain he was alone (and pulled the curtains, too, in case Sebastian bewitched one of the nearest crows to spy through the window) before he slit open the envelope and pulled out the note. It was shorter than he expected, and there was a startling inkblot on the top of the paper, as though she'd sat there with her pen raised for a long time before finally writing.

_My lord Phantomhive,_

_I am cordially extending an invitation to you, as my cousin, to accompany me to the opera this Friday, where, I believe, we shall both find things of interest._

_Regards,_

_Miss Elizabeth Middleford, Esq._

There was a ticket to  _The Mikado_  tucked away into the envelope. He was about to frown—he wasn't a fan of Gilbert and Sullivan, and even if he had been,  _The Mikado_ would have not been his choice—when he spotted the postscript.

_Don't be pert, Ciel._

He couldn't help it. Ciel dropped the note and the ticket onto his desk, closed his eyes, and smiled.


	24. His Cousin, Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "Three Little Maids", or The Mikado.

Soma shook her awake at dawn, ignoring Paula's whispered remonstrations, to drag her out into the stable. For once, Elizabeth didn't protest. Her arm felt better than it had in weeks, and when she mounted Beatrice, the mare finally started prancing like she always had, raring to go. She had to wait until they were out of sight of the house to give the horse her head, and then Beatrice  _exploded_. It was the only word that fit. Elizabeth barely had a warning before the mare's muscles bunched up under her, and Beatrice shot over the turf like she was chasing an antelope. She couldn't help it; she whooped and dug her knees into the horse's side, angling her for the hedges. Soma whooped too, and urged his gelding—one of Edward's prize hunting horses—forward.

Since it was getting closer to the summer, the sun was rising earlier, and the ground was just the right mixture of hard and soft so that Beatrice could run even faster. They took the hedge at a breakneck speed, and there was a single breathtaking instant where they were floating in space, and she could look out and see the whole world. Her hat was torn off by the wind, her hair streaking out behind her. Then Beatrice hit ground again, and she didn't gallop—she  _sprinted_  for the far edges of Middleford land. By some miracle, Soma was keeping up. He lifted his voice, but even then she could barely hear it. " _Race you to the tree_!"

She didn't answer, but she pressed her knee into Beatrice's flank, and the mare executed a split-second turn that had been the whole reason she'd fallen in love with this mare in the first place. Beatrice had no pedigree—she was a mixture of a few different breeds, long and leggy, with a twist of blood that had links to the prairie mustangs—but she'd never seen another horse that could make such sharp turns and run so fast without killing the rider. It was ridiculously dangerous, and if her mother saw her now she'd probably be confined to her room, but Elizabeth didn't care. She could hear Agni calling, and wondered if his own horse, a mild-mannered ambling creature called Sasha, would be able to catch up before the race was over.

Somehow, she doubted it.

The wind cut into her face, making her eyes tear, and she narrowed them, bending low over Beatrice's neck. The little mare took another hedge, and landed with a spray of mud that spattered across Elizabeth's riding breeches, but she didn't much care. She could see Soma out of the corner of her eye, barely making his turn, and she grinned. Soma hadn't seen Beatrice run before; he'd had no idea about the turn, and she was already halfway to the oak tree.

It was easy. By the time the Bengali prince caught up, looking put out, Elizabeth was trotting Beatrice around the tree, trying to cool the horse a bit. Even that pace hadn't tired the mare out. She was twitching and stamping and straining against the bit, and Elizabeth was almost tempted to let her have her head again, even if it meant coming off. Then she remembered her ribs, and kept Beatrice at a trot until Agni caught up.

"You cheated,” Soma accused. Elizabeth poked her tongue out at him.

"You underestimated Beatrice."

He looked as though for a moment he'd like to smack her. Then Soma laughed, and flopped down on the grass, and Elizabeth caught his horse. The gelding wasn't as hot as he could have been; he could wait for a few minutes while she finished walking Beatrice. "Semantics."

Elizabeth walked her mare for a few more minutes, until she spotted Agni in the distance; Beatrice was much cooler now. She tied the mare to the tree, and sat down in the grass. The sun was dappling the world in various shades of pink and orange and white, and the house was gleaming in the new light. Soma rolled over onto his stomach and started playing with the grass, twisting it between his fingers. "Why did you—I mean, do you mind me asking you something?"

Elizabeth bit back a grimace. This question had been a long time in coming; she was fairly certain her family had scared the wrath of God into Soma about the broken engagement. At least he'd waited until she was mostly healed. "Go ahead."

"Do you love him?" Soma asked. "Ciel, I mean."

Her hands clenched into fists against her knees. Elizabeth swallowed, and then began to twirl her hair anxiously in her fingers. "Why do you ask?"

"Because as much as I admire and care for Ciel, he's also an arrogant idiot," said Soma, and Elizabeth snorted. It was a distinctly unladylike sound. Her mother would be furious. "I've tried talking to him about what happened but he won't discuss it at all."

"Well, he wouldn't."

"That's not an answer," said Soma, and she made another face at him. He really was too much like Edward sometimes. When he had hold of an idea, he never let go.

"What does it matter whether or not I love him? It's the case that matters, not my feelings. My feelings, whatever they are, are irrelevant, and they probably always have been." She dropped her hands, and clenched her fingers around a patch of grass, tearing a few blades out at the roots. "So what does it matter, your highness? Ciel doesn't care, and neither should I."

Soma looked at her, silent, as Agni dismounted and took Beatrice and Raptor, Soma's borrowed gelding, and led them away. He kept an eye on them. It felt like her corset was squeezing her into oblivion.  _Rules and regulations and reputations, is that all the world is? The narrow lines, the bars that keep us from rising too high._ Finally, Soma cleared his throat. "He does care."

She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the house. Just beyond the tree was the labyrinth garden, and she could see thin sunlight glinting off of the marble statues that peeped over the tops of the bushes. Soma rolled onto his back and then sat up. " _Amar bon_ , he does care. He doesn't talk about it with me, but we can all tell, all of us who know him. He  _does_."

"I don't know if anyone knows Ciel,” she said, leaning back and propping herself up on her hands. Back at the house, she caught a glint of light off of a very blonde head. Edward. He must have spotted them, because he turned their way. "Not really."

"You never used to be this way," Soma said, and finally she turned her eyes to him. His expression was unreadable. "You're bitter, Lizzy. I don't like it."

"Neither do I,” she replied. Words pressed against her throat. "I do things too passionately. It always comes back to haunt me in the end. I was too passionate when I was trying to make Ciel happy, and then I was too passionate when I was trying to help. Now I'm trying so hard to save people, but I don't know if it'll work and I've probably already put too much of…of  _myself_  into it. I don't want to end up soulless. And I will, if I keep doing this. I know I will."

There was a long pause. Then Soma nudged her in the shoulder, and it made her jump. He always made her jump, with how startlingly  _physical_  he could be. England wasn't that way. Men and women were very rarely friends, and if they were, there was no touching other than by the hand or at the waist for a dance. Not on the shoulder, or in sudden, tackling hugs that always took you by surprise, which Soma bestowed on everyone. (Except her mother, because he was terrified of Frances.) She wasn't if it was a cultural quirk of Bengal, or if it was just Soma's personality, but it surprised her every time. It was rather like being friends with a very tall, wiry, excitable three-year-old, one who bestowed his adoration on everyone who showed him a kindness.

 _It's going to hurt him someday_ , she thought, looking at Soma.  _All his affection. It's hurt him already._

"Who says passion is a bad thing?" he asked, and Elizabeth snapped back into her own head, trying to track with a conversation that had suddenly gone sideways. When the words processed, she offered him a wry smile.

"The whole of England?"

"Dedication and drive are supposed to be virtues, aren't they? You English are so stuck on being virtuous, I thought you would have known that."

"For men, sure." Elizabeth lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. "Women should be meek and mild and controlled lest we tempt men to sin."

Her voice was surprisingly bitter. Soma lifted his eyebrows, and his mouth opened into a comical  _o_. "But your queen, she's a woman too, isn't she? And she is the empress. The British empire  _exists_  because of her drive."

She'd never considered that. It seemed quite hypocritical. "I heard from Mama it was different before Prince Albert died. Her husband. Something in her…it broke when he passed. It's probably never healed, not really."

"Like something in you broke when the engagement was annulled." Soma pressed. Elizabeth made to stand.

"I don't want to talk about it, all right?"

Soma seized her arm and pulled her back down to the grass. She landed with a squeak. "Lizzy, please believe me. While you were asleep…Ciel was a wreck."

"Colleen told me. I don't think me punching him helped his bruises."

"No, I mean he was a  _wreck_. He was irritable and he didn't talk to anyone and all he did was either pace in his room or watch you sleep, because you  _weren't waking up_. It terrified us all." A shadow flickered on his face. "You shouldn't have slept that long, it wasn't natural, and the doctor was afraid something in your head was bleeding. He thought you might  _never_ wake up."

His fingers tightened on her arm. Elizabeth remained quiet.

"I've seen Ciel react to things before, Lizzy,” Soma said. "But I've never— _never—_ seen him quite that scared. So he does care. He may be really, really stupid about showing it, but he cares. And you care for him, I've seen it."

Her words came back to her.  _I shouldn't. I shouldn't care. But…_

 _I'm…glad you're awake,_  and his voice had been almost shaking. She'd seen the dark thumbprints under his eyes, hints of no sleep. She just hadn't wanted to think about it because that made things—it made the broken engagement easier. Now she couldn't get his eyes out of her head.

Finally, Soma let her go, and stood himself. His dark hair had purple highlights in the sun. "He's learning, Lizzy. Slowly, but he's changed. When he's with you, it's just…it's different. Ciel's different. I can't explain it. He just…he doesn't yell at me as much. He's calmer. He's…he's  _Ciel_. He's not the Earl Phantomhive. He's  _Ciel_ and  _you_ are the reason for that. I just hope you understand that."

She stared up at Soma for a long moment, unable to speak. She wasn't sure what to say even if she had been able to think of a coherent sentence. Then he grinned, and offered a hand. Behind him, Edward was nearly at their tree, hatless and without a waistcoat. He'd probably spotted them outside the window and come to investigate.

"You should make that mare a polo horse,” Soma said, helping her up off the ground, and Elizabeth looked at Beatrice, considering. "Hairpin turns are a plus there."

"Do you know, I've never played polo."

"I'll have to teach you,” Soma said, and there was no hesitation in him, no remonstration. He slung an arm around her waist and another around Edward's—Edward squawked—and twirled on the spot, until Elizabeth was dizzy with laughter. "We'll  _all_ learn!"

Edward grumbled under his breath. Agni was watching all three of them with an affectionate smile, and Elizabeth smiled back at him, waving. The sunlight felt warm against her skin.

She would have to think about what Soma had said.

* * *

 

Elizabeth stepped down out of the carriage, Paula just behind her, and looked up at the doors of the Savoy. There was a slow trickle of people heading into the building, a mixture of high-society ladies and young, nervous clerks. There was a girl selling oranges at the base of the stairs, and she bought four before turning back to Paula and smiling. "What do you think?"

"I think this is a bad idea," said Paula, but she took one of the oranges anyway, smoothing her gloved thumb over the skin. "If you don't mind me saying so, Miss Lizzy."

"I never mind anything you say, Paula. And you're right. It  _is_ probably a bad idea." Her stomach was clenching up in knots just thinking about it. "But this whole affair will be finished faster this way. And…and I'm curious. I truly am. I want to understand."

_I'm glad you're awake._

_When he's with you, it's just…it's different. Ciel's different._

"Even after everything?"

" _Especially_  after everything," she said, and tucked the remaining oranges into her bag. She hadn't had oranges in days. "What would you do if you were in my position, Paula?"

"Move to India," replied Paula promptly. "And write novels."

Elizabeth laughed. "Is that what you want to do?"

Paula blushed. "I don't know."

"If this whole investigation works out the way I hope it does, Paula, then you and I and Michael will all go to India with the prince, and we'll stay there for at least a month,” Elizabeth promised, and tucked her arm through Paula's. "Come on. We had better take our seats before the Lady Fotheringhay arrives."

"And what, precisely, are we going to do, Miss Lizzy, if we find her?"

"I don't know yet,” she said, as they crossed the road, handed over the tickets, and entered the theatre. "I will soon, though."

The inside of the Savoy was draped with velvet and bursting with rich furniture. Elizabeth flicked her fan open to mask part of her face at the sight of all the people.  _The Mikado_  had originated at the Savoy Theatre, and the opera seemed to return every few years to be performed, again and again, to adoring audiences. Gilbert and Sullivan had written a few plays since then, of course, but none that Elizabeth could remember. Paula coughed on the cigarette smoke. "Where do we go?"

"Upstairs." Elizabeth smiled, and inclined her head to a few people she knew before heading for the stairs, Paula close behind. "I want to get to the box before Ciel does. It won't be good for anyone to know that he's here with me."

Paula mumbled something under her breath that could have been a retort. Elizabeth ignored it, gathering her skirts in her hands and vanishing up the stairs.

Her father had permanently reserved a box at the Savoy many years ago, right after he and Mama had married, and even though it was rare for any of their family to go to the theatre, the box, as always, was open to them. Elizabeth settled into one of the chairs, ignoring the twinge from the cut on her ribcage, and when Paula hesitated, she gestured to the empty seat next to hers. "It's all right, Paula. You've been on your feet all day, you can sit down. The play doesn't start for half an hour anyway."

"Then why are we here so early?" Paula asked, settling in the chair as though it were about to bite her.

"I want to see who shows up." She really hoped that the Lady Caroline would appear, because if she didn't, she would be subjecting herself to several hours of opera with Ciel for nothing. She looked at Paula again, and added, "I did mean it about India, you know. It would probably be Calcutta. But I know Prince Soma won't mind if we visit."

Paula turned a shade of red that Elizabeth had never seen before in nature. "But—"

"Paula."

"I can't just—"

" _Paula_." She smiled, and for the first time since the engagement had been broken, it wasn't one that she made herself do. It was one that she simply used, without thinking about it, and Paula gleamed at her. "It's all right. I want to go, and I want to take you, and I think it would be a wonderful trip, so please humor me? Besides, after letting Soma stay in our house for so long, I think it's going to be unavoidable."

Paula beamed at her. "Yes, Miss Lizzy."

"Thank you." Elizabeth turned back to look at the stage, at the drawn curtains and the boxes that were slowly filling with people. She twisted her hands around her opera glasses. She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Paula?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated. "I'm sorry. For treating you so badly after what happened. I—you didn't deserve that. You've been a true friend to me, all these years, and I ignored you and slammed doors in your face and pretended you weren't there." Elizabeth swallowed. "So I just…I apologize."

Paula blinked at her, and then a soft smile flickered at the edges of her lips. "Thank you, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth nearly stood, and hugged Paula right there, but that wouldn't be acceptable, even in a private box. It was going to be difficult enough with Ciel coming here as well. If anyone turned their glasses to this box, they would see them together, and the tongues would start to wag, and even if no one in her family cared—well, not overly much—Society would. She chewed her lip, and hoped Ciel would use his brain. "I really am sorry, Paula."

Paula squeezed her shoulder. "Shall I go and see if I can get you something to drink, miss?"

"Yes, please."

She vanished. Elizabeth waited until she heard the click of the door before lifting a hand, and pressing it to her collarbone. The fashion for gowns this season was low necklines; for her to show up in public with a dress that covered her shoulders was unheard of. Nina had compensated, lowering the front into a square neckline, but it still was much different than anything anyone else was wearing, and it would either catch on or go south on her. The cuts were still healing, though, and until they did, they had to be covered. Elizabeth closed her eyes.

 _I owe Ciel._  It hadn't connected in her mind before now, but without the bullet, she would probably be dead.  _I owe him._  Not for the first time she wondered what had happened to the Parkers. Edward had heard nothing about them since the Cutter mansion massacre; they, along with Nathaniel Fotheringhay and the remaining members of the Zodiac, had vanished into thin air. The air felt quiet and still as a mausoleum as she closed her eyes and thought.  _They can't move yet because they know we'll be watching. Felicity is probably healing the same way I am. And now that they know for certain that Ciel will be watching their opium supplies, it'll be difficult for them to prepare anyone for soul-cutting._

It didn't keep the nightmares away.

Paula returned, bearing lemonade, and Elizabeth pulled off her gloves before peeling one of the oranges and arranging it in a small flower on a napkin. It was surprisingly tart, the juice bursting over her tongue, enough to make her grimace. The lemonade was too sugary. Eventually she squeezed the orange into the lemonade and drank it. It made the whole box smell of citrus, and by the time Caroline Fotheringhay had settled in her box, dressed in a magnificent velvet gown that glittered at the hems, she had worried the pieces of orange skin into tiny shreds. Stephen had come along with her, and he was reading a book, not paying attention. The Beddors were with them, to Elizabeth's surprise; it was a box drenched in black. Rebecca looked like she'd been crying.

"Who are you spying on?" The voice came from behind her, and Elizabeth nearly dropped her opera glasses as not Ciel, but  _Lau_  stepped through the half-open door of the box, followed closely by a black-haired boy who kept his head down, his hands tucked into the long sleeves of his  _tangzhuang_. He had a long braid down his back. Paula leapt to her feet, gawping, and Elizabeth wondered if she'd ever seen anyone or anything like Lau before. She couldn't remember. "You look very serious."

Elizabeth stood, and curtsied. "I didn't know you were a fan of Gilbert and Sullivan, sir."

"I'm not, particularly, but my young cousin Liang here insisted." The boy lifted his head, just slightly, and Ciel's single blue eye stabbed her in the gut. Elizabeth tightened her grip on her fan, but looked at Lau again, wondering if it would be acceptable to punch him. "He's never been to London before, you see, and I thought I might call in a  _little_  favor?"

"I see." Elizabeth glanced at Paula. "I really don't know if—"

"Oh, he has an escort, of course." Sebastian was wearing thin glasses and a  _tangzhuang_  of his own; he looked almost like Lau's elder brother. It looked as though her box had been dropped into the middle of China without her knowledge. "And both speak flawless English, dear. Don't you?"

"Indeed,” Sebastian said, and bowed to hide his Mona Lisa smile. He had even mimicked Lau's faint accent, and enhanced it, until he sounded straight from Shanghai. "We are at your service, my lady."

Paula made a noise that resembled the cry of a strangled cat. Lau continued. "I'm sorry to have to drop him on you and rush off, but I have an appointment this evening that I absolutely cannot miss. Do you mind?"

"I really don't—"

"Brilliant!" Lau swooped down on her, caught her hands in his, and kissed her on both cheeks. She felt the crinkle of folded paper in her fingers as he added, "Thank you so much; I'll be back to collect them at the end of the opera. You're a lifesaver, Miss Middleford, truly you are!"

He added something in Chinese to Ciel, who nodded as though he understood, and then he and Ran-Mao had whirled out of the box, and Elizabeth wondered whose idea it had been for the elaborate deception. She looked at Ciel for a long moment before turning away, tucking Lau's note into her pocket without looking at it. "You're nearly late."

"Lau's fault, not mine." He rejoined, fiddling with his fake bangs. "Really, Elizabeth,  _The Mikado_?"

She ignored this, and settled in her chair again, ignoring the prickling on the back of her neck. "Did you know Damian Beddor was having an affair?"

"Excuse me?" Ciel stared at her, his eye narrowing. "First of all, how did you know that? And secondly, what on  _earth_ does that have to do with anything?"

"I did keep that box of letters for a week or two before giving it to you, Ciel. I had copies made." She hadn't lied at all—she  _had_ had the box for a week or two, and she  _had_ had copies made, though not at the same time—but it still felt funny to say it. "And it never struck your mind to investigate her?"

"We've been keeping an eye on her since the start. She's never done anything that could be regarded as suspicious, other than having the affair in the first place. And judging from the letters themselves, she doesn't seem to know much of anything."

"Respectfully I disagree,” Elizabeth said, and lifted her opera glasses to her face. "She's the aunt of one Zodiac and the lover of another. That's two connections. I wouldn't be surprised if she at least knew that they were working together. Right now, she's our link. If we can use her, she might lead us straight to them."

Ciel flicked his gaze to her face, and she felt the tips of her ears warm. "The chances of that are fairly low."

 _I need your help. I need_ —

She shoved that thought away. "Doesn't mean there's not a chance. Besides, do you have any better ideas?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"It was a rhetorical question." Before Ciel could object, she continued. "Anyway, I spoke to her son a few days ago, and apparently she's been spending most of her time lately visiting friends she won't talk about. It may not be much of a lead, but it's better than anything we have now." Elizabeth lowered her glasses and gave him a look, and Ciel shifted, whether out of nervousness or irritation, she couldn't tell. "Don't you think?"

He grunted. "Smugness is not an attractive quality, Elizabeth."

"Take your own advice, Mr.  _Liang_." She edged her voice with acid. "Look, the curtain's lifting."

Ciel fell quiet, but it wasn't a scowly silence; in fact, if anything, it was almost comfortable, and that made her very nervous.

 _I can't hate him,_ she realized, and even though she didn't turn to look at him, she could picture him perfectly in her mind's eye.  _I don't know why I can't, but I don't think I'll ever be able to hate him. He means too much. Meant too much. Means or meant? I don't know anymore._

She took a breath, and let it out through her nose.  _Calm. Calm down. I am Elizabeth Middleford. I am the daughter of the Marquis Alexis Leon Middleford and Frances Phantomhive-Middleford, the sister of Edward Middleford. I am single. I like to ride and to dance and to go to the theatre. I hate pain. I'm willing to broker a deal with a known criminal, and make an alliance with a man I should hate in order to bring down my enemies. I refuse to break my promises. And I am going to destroy the Zodiac if it is the last thing I do._

It was better than nothing.

She'd never seen  _The Mikado_  before, and even though it did an absolutely wretched job of describing Japanese culture—the names, in particular, were incredibly irritating—it was quite funny, and the singers were superb. Elizabeth alternated between watching the stage and watching Lady Fotheringhay. Caroline Fotheringhay was being quite attentive to the actors, for the most part, but on occasion she swept her opera glasses around the room, surveying. Elizabeth was quite certain that she spotted Elizabeth once or twice, and hoped that no one recognized Ciel or Sebastian.

She kept catching Ciel watching her, out of the corner of her eye. She never called him on it—there was no point, especially when this was  _work_ —but it made something inside her fizz, like popping soap bubbles. It didn't help that Soma's voice wouldn't get out of her head.

"I'll be  _damned_ ," said Ciel explosively, as down on stage, the actresses began to sing again. " _Three little maids from school are we, pert as a school-girl well can be, filled to the brim with girlish glee, three little maids from school!_ " "Of all the places to show up—"

_Everything is a source of fun_

"What is it?" she asked, and Ciel gestured to one of the upper levels. When she shifted her glasses, she saw a flicker of movement in one of the darkened booths. A dark-haired, bespectacled man sat near the front, and propped up in the chair beside him was a long stick. There was another figure there, with shocking reddish-blonde hair and glasses, leaning against the wall in the back. Ronald Knox.

_Nobody's safe, for we care for none!_

Elizabeth lowered her glasses, confused by Ciel's reaction just as much as Knox's presence in the first place. "Ciel."

_Life is a joke that's just begun!  
Three little maids from school…_

He said nothing for a long moment, staring up at the darkened box, and he worked his throat a few times before he finally spoke. "Someone's going to die."

"What?"

 _Three little maids who, all unwary,_  
Come from a ladies' seminary  
Freed from a genius tutelary  
Three little maids from school…  
Three little maids from school!

"You just have to believe me, Elizabeth. Someone is going to die, and they're going to do it soon. Spears wouldn't be here otherwise." He dug his fingers into the arms of his chair. "This just keeps getting deeper. I don't like it."

You  _don't like it? At least_ you  _know what we're dealing with!_  She bit that back quickly. "All right. Do we know who?"

 _One little maid is a bride, Yum-Yum_  
Two little maids in attendance come  
Three little maids is the total sum  
Three little maids from school!

"No,” he said, and swore under his breath. "But it's the second time reapers have shown up in this investigation and that's two more times than I would have preferred."

 _From three little maids take one away_  
Two little maids remain, and they  
Won't have to wait very long they say  
Three little maids from school!  
(Three little maids from school!)

"Ciel." His eyes clung to the box for a moment, and then he turned to look at her, and Ciel frowned. Elizabeth wasn't sure what her expression must have been like, but it was enough to put him on the defensive. She switched tacks. "Paula, could you go and get some more lemonade, please? We'll only be a moment."

Paula wavered, but curtsied and vanished out the door, the song following her out.

"You need to explain how you know that, my lord." Ciel gritted his teeth together, and she could hear the grinding even at this distance. Elizabeth glanced back at Sebastian, who was watching the scene in front of him with a mildly intrigued look on his face, and then looked at Ciel again. "Ciel. I think you owe me this much."

 _Three little maids who, all unwary_  
Come from a ladies' seminary  
Freed from its genius tutelary  
Three little maids from school!  
Three little maids from school!

It was a low blow. He turned to glare at her. Down on stage, the chorus finished their song, and the world around them clapped. Once the applause faded away, he began to speak, in a rough, jerking voice. "Reapers exist to take souls of those who have died. They are not human. They are on no one's side but their own. I don't know where they live, or where they come from, but they appear infrequently, when and where there will be a death."

"All right," she said, but her stomach was lurching and her mind was whirling because  _this was insane_. She'd heard of the Grim Reaper (because who hadn't heard of the Grim Reaper?) and she'd heard of women and men who could connect to the spirit world and bring back the ghosts of the dead, though she didn't believe in such things. But  _this_? "All right," Elizabeth said again, trying to get herself back under control, but her hands were trembling. She hid them in her lap. "How do you—how do you know this?"

"I've run into them once or twice,” he said, evasively, and then added, "Knox didn't tell you all this at Cutter's manorhouse?"

_Did Ciel have you keep an eye on the building, Mr. Knox?_

_No, I'm here for the souls._

"They were on the  _Campania_ ," she said, and Ciel nodded.

"One of them  _caused_  the incident on the  _Campania_. An ex-reaper, but regardless. If those two are here, there's going to be trouble."

She swallowed a few times. Her throat was very dry. "If…if that's true, Ciel, they might not be here for…for someone important to the investigation. They might be here for someone totally different."

Ciel shook his head. "If that was the case, it wouldn't be those two. They've been assigned to this case just as we have, that's for a reason, they know we've been investigating it and they know that we know who  _they_ are so why are they—" He put a hand up to his head, and blinked in surprise when his fingers found the black wig instead of his usual bangs. He never took his eyes off of the darkened box. "They're teasing us."

"Precisely, my lord," said Sebastian, and Elizabeth jumped, because she'd forgotten he was there at all. "They don't care if we know they're here. It's a deliberate power play. Something is going to happen and we aren't going to be able to stop it."

Elizabeth looked from one of them to the other, feeling distinctly on the edge, shut out of something that she felt she should be able to understand. Lau's paper crinkled in her pocket as she shifted. Finally, she broke the silence. "Fine. During the intermission we go talk to them."

"Not a good idea,” Ciel rejoined immediately. "They won't tell us anything. That's not what they're here for." He bit his thumbnail, and stared at the stage, where the actors were arguing. Paula opened the door, and slipped back inside, closing it quietly behind her. "And that's not the point anyway. The point is someone in this theatre is going to die, and they have something to do with the Zodiac."

The cast began to sing again. Elizabeth couldn't hear them. She lifted the opera glasses to her eyes and looked at the box where Caroline Fotheringhay had been sitting a few minutes before, where Stephen was still sitting, his book in his lap, left unattended. He was watching the actresses.

Caroline was gone. And when she looked up at the darkened box, the reapers were nowhere to be seen.


	25. His Cousin, Anguished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: gun violence, death.

It was Paula who eventually thought of the obvious, and vanished down the hall to bring back Stephen Fotheringhay. Stephen was delighted to meet the Chinese boy that Elizabeth was showing around London (Ciel rolled his eyes and cursed in Chinese), and asked after everyone's health with that unassuming way he had that meant he either had no perception of the tension around him, or was absolutely determined to defuse it by making a fool of himself. Elizabeth made herself smile and chat about the play for a little while before asking after his mother, who, Stephen explained, had gone down to the main lobby to collect a message. "She didn't say who from," he added, when Elizabeth fished. "She usually doesn't talk about her messages."

He said it the way one did when it was something one often repeated.  _She doesn't usually talk about her messages. She doesn't usually talk about her past. She doesn't usually talk about herself or her life or her family or anything at all other than high society_. From the few chances Elizabeth had had to speak with the woman herself—at Mama's tea, and a few parties and things in the week and a half since—she had learned exactly one thing about Caroline Fotheringhay from Caroline Fotheringhay, and that was her name. The rest of it was things she'd gleaned from the letters and from third-party gossip at those same events. Not even her mother knew much about the woman, and Edward's investigative powers turned up very little, other than that she'd been born in Bath and educated in a small boarding school outside of London. Also that she had ties to the suffragette movement, though how strong those ties were, exactly, nobody could find out for sure.

Elizabeth let out a long breath when Ciel's disguise held, and wondered what would happen if Stephen Fotheringhay had ever done more than glimpse the Earl Phantomhive from across a crowded ballroom. They would have been caught instantly, probably, and society would have been scandalized that she was still fraternizing with the man who broke off their engagement.  _Though, to be frank, considering he's my cousin, it's fairly difficult not to run into him sometimes._

_I'm glad you're awake._

She shoved that thought away and forced herself to focus on Stephen. "Sorry, what?"

"I said she'll probably still be down in the lobby if you wanted to talk to her? It's probably why she hasn't come back, I saw some of her friends down there." He glanced at Ciel. "And all of you are more than welcome to join us in our box. It's quite bare."

Ciel leaned forward, and whispered something to her, not in Chinese, but in Italian. "Find her. Keep the reapers away. We'll try to track them down."

She fought the urge to say something like  _don't you dare pick a fight_ or  _try not to shoot anyone_  but either one would be useless. She nodded, and laughed as though he'd said something funny. "Only until the end of intermission. Meet in their box."

He nodded, and pressed her shoulder, lightly. Elizabeth ignored the touch. " _Zai jian,_  Liang."

Ciel bowed, his hands hidden in his sleeves. Sebastian bowed as well, and they both swept away down the hall. Stephen watched them go, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Liang spotted someone he knew upstairs. He'll meet us in your box." She swallowed, and then forced a smile. "Shall we go downstairs?"

Paula bobbed along behind them, keeping a careful eye. Stephen was like Rebecca—he was quiet and shy, but once you spoke to him enough he opened up, slowly but surely, like a flower that only blossomed in the moonlight. He would have been a much better match for poor Rebecca than her current fiancé. Elizabeth worried her lip. Did Rebecca even have a fiancé anymore? After the murder of her father, there was a tarnish on the family name; would the man even want her?

Guilt swallowed her up, squashed her, and she had to fight to keep the sunny fake smile on her face as they wobbled down the stairs into the main lobby.

Something in her relaxed when she spotted Caroline Fotheringhay through the crowd. She was still all in black, with a matching dyed ostrich feather in her hair. Behind her, she heard Paula mumble something in Italian, about stubborn men with stupid ideas, and she flicked her fan over her face to hide her smile. "You said she was off to find a message?"

"Yes, she left in the middle of the act for it, I think." He craned his neck, and waved a bit when his mother turned and spotted them. She lifted her hand, and her mouth tightened a little as her eyes flicked to Elizabeth, who lowered her head in a small greeting, and beckoned with one gloved finger. Stephen flinched.

"She's told me not to wave. I keep forgetting."

"Nothing wrong with waving," Elizabeth reassured him absently, keeping her arm tucked through his as they stepped down the stairs.

"Only if you're twelve." He mumbled it under his breath with an expression that said that was a common reprieve. He cleared his throat. "There you are, Mother. We were wondering where you'd vanished to."

"I had to make a phone call," said Caroline, and she stooped down to press her lips against Elizabeth's cheek. Her mouth was cool and damp from her drink. "Hullo, darling, I didn't expect to see you here?"

"I'm showing a family friend around London and I thought the theatre would be a good night out. He's a little reclusive." Elizabeth was bordering on tall, but she still had to go up on tiptoe like a child to return the cheek-kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as I could be, considering I just received some rather bad news." Lady Fotheringhay fluttered her fan, her eyes never leaving Elizabeth. "Stephen, dear, will you go get me some champagne? I'm dreadfully thirsty."

"Of course." He slipped away into the crowd, vanishing into the world of coat-tails and cravats. Lady Fotheringhay waited until he was out of earshot to slip her arm through Elizabeth's, and draw her a bit closer. "And how are you feeling, my dear? It's your first real outing since your engagement ended. I know how difficult the first one is."

 _Actually, considering that my ex-fiancé is here and I may in fact still love him it's not as bad as it could be._  It was on the tip of her tongue. Elizabeth bit it back. "I'm muddling through."

"I assume Stephen's invited you to sit in our box? You and your guest are more than welcome, my dear. Have I ever met him?"

"No, I don't think so." She hesitated. "Did you ever meet my—I mean, have you ever met the Earl Phantomhive?"

"No, I'm ashamed to say I haven't. He doesn't often deign to spend time with the likes of us." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice, and Elizabeth wondered just how many society invitations Ciel threw in the fire every day. "His parents were such friendly people. I don't understand how Vincent Phantomhive and Rachel Durless had a child with such an atrocious set of manners."

For some reason, that stung a little bit. She swallowed her protests. "You knew my aunt and uncle?"

"For a short time, yes, I did." Caroline's eyes softened. "They were wonderful people. I see some of them in you, dear."

"You barely know me."

Lady Fotheringhay shrugged. "Regardless." Pause. Her hand tightened on Elizabeth's arm. "I apologize if my son has offended you—he's always been a little—"

"Stephen doesn't bother me,” Elizabeth said. "He's quieter than most people, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, is it?"

Lady Fotheringhay relaxed, and smiled. This time it was a real smile that made her whole body soften. "Thank you. That…helps."

Elizabeth hesitated, squeezing the woman's hand lightly, and forged on. "Actually, he reminds me a little of a friend of mine, Rebecca Beddor. I don't know if you've met her—they're both quiet and bookish, and stubborn as the devil if they want to be."

Lady Fotheringhay's face whitened, and she had to swallow a few times. "…Oh. You…knew the Beddors?"

"Like I said, the daughter is a friend of mine. I was very sorry for their loss. Sir Beddor was…a bit of a strange man, perhaps, but a kind one. For him to be taken so early, it doesn't bode well for Rebecca and Lady Beddor. I'm worried about them."

"Yes," said Lady Fotheringhay faintly. "I see. Yes."

"Did you ever meet the Beddors, my lady?" Elizabeth asked, and her heart twisted in her chest. She didn't like this play-acting. She would have rather just asked the woman outright, but until the night was over and she knew the reapers were gone, there was nothing she could do except this. She flicked her eyes around, once, but there was no sign of Ronald Knox or his dark-haired partner.

"A few times. Sir Beddor was working on a business venture with my nephew Nathaniel; we had dinner together once or twice." She settled, her face smooth as a painted mask. "I couldn't imagine going through what they have. No wife should lose her husband, or a daughter her father. Damian Beddor was a good man. He made his fair share of mistakes, but…but he was always a good man, or tried very hard to be."

"It sounds like you knew them quite well."

"Sir Beddor was the ward of my father for a few years when I was a teenager,” Lady Fotheringhay said abruptly. "He had no other family, so he stayed with us from when he was fourteen until he went off to university. But that's many years past now." She straightened. "And you've done a very good job trying to escape from the previous subject, my dear Miss Elizabeth. I realize that it may be difficult for you to talk about, but I've always been an advocate of revealing one's feelings. It has this wonderful cleansing effect." She drew Elizabeth to one of the plush couches and settled there, pressing her hand lightly. "Now. We have a little while before Stephen gets back, so you mustn't be afraid to speak."

Elizabeth glanced back at Paula, who looked half-amused, half-offended. "I really would rather—"

"Forgive my frankness, but come off it," said Lady Fotheringhay, and Elizabeth jumped. It sounded like Colleen had temporarily hijacked the woman's language. "The whole of society has been wondering about your prolonged absences. Now, the second one was for that dreadful riding accident—your mother told me about it, darling, it must have been terrible—but the first, that one was a bit too long for someone who  _wasn't_ devastated, don't you think?"

"Honestly?" Elizabeth let her voice go cold. "I don't think it's any of your business."

Lady Fotheringhay sat back, looking surprised. Then she bit her lip. "I'm only trying to help you, dear."

"Thank you for your consideration, but I'm afraid it's unfounded." She could feel the Numbness creeping back up on her. Elizabeth swallowed hard. "It's….I don't want to talk about it."

Lady Fotheringhay gave her a very hard look, her eyes sharp and flickering over Elizabeth's face. Then she smiled. "All right. When you feel like you can, Miss Elizabeth, please, know you can trust me to keep your secrets."

Elizabeth nodded, jerkily, and stared at the wall for a moment.

"Well," said Caroline Fotheringhay, standing. "There's Stephen with the drinks. Do head back upstairs, both of you; I'll be there in just a moment."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to just write a note. I won't be a minute."

There was no excuse she could make, especially not since Stephen had heard most of that and was standing meekly by the couch, waiting for her to get up so he could escort her upstairs. She flicked her eyes around the room once more—the reapers were nowhere to be seen—before standing and resting her hand on Stephen's arm, nodding at Lady Caroline. "See you upstairs."

She turned back at the top of the stairs, and picked out Lady Caroline in the crowd. She was standing, and talking to one of the servants. She didn't recognize him, and for an instant she breathed easier.

Then Cutter eased out of the crowd, offering his arm to Lady Fotheringhay, and as she took it, he looked up, and met Elizabeth's eyes.

"Paula,” she said, and Paula ran. She didn't bother disguising it. She cut and  _ran_ , and Elizabeth kept her eyes on Cutter as the maid vanished around the corner. Stephen openly gaped. Cutter smiled just as the heavy hand hit Elizabeth's shoulder, and the automaton's cold fingers dug into her skin, a silent warning. Stephen glanced from her to the silent automaton, a maid dressed in black, her eyes cast away from Stephen's so he didn't notice that they were made of glass. Behind the maid was Petrovsky, his hair slicked back as usual, his face drawn and chilly. Stephen's eyebrows lifted in a shy question. "Um, Miss Middleford?"

"I have to talk to this gentleman for a moment. I'll be right behind you." It was a lie. She could taste the bitterness of it on her tongue. "I promise you."

Stephen flicked his eyes up to the maid and Petrovsky again, and she could see the mistrust there.  _Don't follow your instincts. Do as I say. Go. Go. Go._  She wasn't sure if her silent begging showed on her face or if Stephen was just too timid, but he nodded, and continued up the stairs. Elizabeth let out a small breath once he'd passed out of sight, and glanced at the Russian. The automaton said nothing.

"This way,” he said, and together they followed Cutter and the Lady Fotheringhay down the stairs and through a side door into darkness.

* * *

 

It wasn't as though they expected to find anything inside the box. The reapers wouldn't leave anything behind for them to find—they seemed to be able to exist in this—world? Plane? Dimension? He wasn't sure—without anything more than their scythes and themselves, though some of them seemed to be very particular about what they wanted to look like. Ronald Knox and his Oxfords were the primary example, as well as Grell and his specific idiosyncrasies. Ciel only glanced into the box to make sure his assumption was correct before turning to Sebastian. "They're probably downstairs."

"Yes." Sebastian studied him, his eyes flat and unexpressive. "If I might ask, my lord—"

"I would prefer if you didn't," said Ciel. There was no direct order against it, though, so Sebastian asked anyway. Of course he would.

"I understand your reasoning in sending away the Lady Elizabeth," said Sebastian, and was Ciel imagining it, or did the butler's voice tighten, just a little, at Elizabeth's name? He frowned, and made a mental note to ask about it later as Sebastian continued. "But why are we attempting to protect the Fotheringhays? It would be simpler to leave them as bait and wait for the reapers to come and collect."

"Admitted,” Ciel said, and stepped away from the wall, turning the corner and jimmying open a drab door at the end. The servant's stairs. They twisted away into the darkness, and he was sharply remembered of the passages below Cutter's manor, the sharp spicy smell of cutting souls. "There's something wrong here, though. It's true that the reapers could have just been showing off, but why would they appear so boldly? Usually when we've run into them before, they don't care if we see them, but they're  _always_  working. Standing there watching a play doesn't seem to be incredibly in character for them."

Sebastian's secret smile said that he had passed some sort of test. "A stellar observation, my lord."

"Don't pander to me, Michaelis,” Ciel snapped, and started down the stairs. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir. Though I was not attempting to pander."

Ciel ignored him. "This is the only way they could have gone without them being seen. They're not in the main hall, you confirmed that, so…this would be the only option."

"And if they allowed us to see them, they may have something to tell us,” Sebastian finished, and together they stepped down onto the bottom floor.

The door had to have led backstage, because there were dozens of people in faux-Japanese costumes scuttling around, and dozen more in normal dress carrying props and pieces of the set. The  _tangzhuang_  Lau had loaned them didn't fit with the overall scheme, but it was close enough for them to be ignored as Ciel turned to Sebastian and lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. Sebastian shook his head slightly  _—too crowded, too cramped, too difficult to sense them_ —and Ciel cursed under his breath. Then Sebastian stiffened, and smooth as water he stepped in front of Ciel. "Suit, is that you?"

"I no longer operate under an alias, demon, as you are well aware,” William said, and he had his stick in a loose grip, his center of gravity steady and focused. He was ready to attack if they did. "What are you two doing here? Interference in this matter will not be tolerated by the Personnel Department."

"I wondered why this place stank so badly," said Sebastian silkily. "Are you here to spy on the humans again? I've been considering just how far the perversion of the reapers extended."

"Shut your filthy mouth." William's voice never changed cadence, never shifted from cool disinterest, and his eyes slid away from Sebastian to focus on Ciel. "You are of no interest to me. Either of you. This incident is a fixed one. There is nothing anyone in this building can do to halt the events that are coming. So take your woman and leave. I don't want to have to deal with the paperwork that will ensue from clashing with a demon."

Sebastian smiled, colorlessly, and said nothing. He simply looked at Ciel, and his eyes had gone crimson, the pupils elongating into slits. "Command me, my lord."

Ciel looked at Sebastian for a long moment, and then back at William T. Spears. Then he took a breath. "What events are you talking about, Spears? What can't we stop?"

"That information is classified, and not something to be discussed with a human. Especially not in front of your enslaved vermin. Now, if you'll excuse me." William pushed away from the wall, twirling his stick absently, and Sebastian automatically stepped to the side, slow and deliberate, so he remained in front of Ciel even as the reaper passed them, heading down the hall. Clearly, there was to be no more discussion. There might have been with Ronald Knox, but with William Spears, there would be none. Done and dismissed. No point in arguing, and no point in setting Sebastian on him either, not in a hallway stuffed full of people.

Ciel raised his voice a bit. "Spears! I want a favor!"

Sebastian hissed under his breath, and Ciel wondered if he'd expected this. Spears kept walking for a moment, and then slowed, and stopped. The theatre people parted around them, like waves around rocks. Then, slowly, the reaper turned, and his glasses glinted in the lamplight. "I don't bestow favors to humans, especially not those with servants like yours."

Ciel ignored that. "We won't stop your reaping. We won't interfere. All I'm asking is that you let us see Fotheringhay's cinematic record. We think that the memories have the information we need in order to stop the Zodiac, which is something  _you_ want as much as we do."

"On the contrary," Spears said, "the Zodiac has offered us more job opportunities than we've had since Jack the Ripper."

"But neither you nor your partner like overtime, do you?" Ciel bit back a small smile when Spears cocked his head to the side, his expression unchanging, his eyes flickering in his face. Then, after a moment, he lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug.

"If you happen to be there during the reaping, that's none of my business, now is it?"

Spears vanished into the crowd. Sebastian's expression, when Ciel turned to look at him, had flickered back to normal, though he had a twist to his lips, as though he'd smelled something nasty. There was still a dash of blood in his eyes. He lifted his eyebrows at Ciel. "A surprising angle, my lord. We're not going to try and save the woman?"

Ciel scowled at him, stung. "If we get the opportunity. To be absolutely honest, the information matters more. And many lives matter more than one."

Sebastian looked back at him, and there it was, the small, arrogant smile twisting the corner of his mouth, the one that said everything. "As you say, my lord. The needs of the many, I've found, are often seen as greater than the few."

Ciel shrugged a bit, and started back up the stairs.

They were nearly at the Fotheringhay's box when he worked up the nerve. Ciel stopped, and turned back to Sebastian. He switched to Greek. He doubted there was anyone in the hallway that could speak it overly well, let alone distinguish it from Chinese. Sebastian didn't blink at the shift.

"Why did you threaten Spears?"

Sebastian looked back at him, levelly, though his mouth may have tightened a bit at one corner. It was half-smile, half-grimace, and in spite of himself, Ciel shifted, ready to spin out of the way if Sebastian lunged. "Pardon me, my lord?"

"You swore you'd never lie to me." Ciel's voice was icy. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Acting like that could lead to an unmitigated disaster. It was sloppy and reckless. It shouldn't have happened."

Sebastian said nothing. His eyes were gleaming amber-red as Ciel continued. "You've been acting strange since the manorhouse. I thought it might have been the imprisonment, but it's not that, is it?"

Nothing. Sebastian remained quiet. Ciel clenched his hands into fists. "The Director said he'd met you before. Was that true?"

"Yes," said Sebastian, and he almost spat the word, his voice rough and angry. "We have had the displeasure."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You did not ask, my lord." He stepped to the side, out of the way of two high society ladies who gave them queer looks. Chinese men—even fake Chinese men—weren't often seen in the Savoy. Correction: weren't  _ever_ seen in the Savoy. There was a reason why all the actors on stage were wearing heavy eyeliner and walking around with their eyes half-closed. "We should return to the box, my lord. The curtain is about to rise."

Ciel didn't move. "I don't want to have to give you a command, Sebastian. But I expect an explanation for this. All of it."

Something in his face flickered. Then Sebastian bowed, deeper than he had in a long time, and it wasn't out of respect. His mouth was in full twist now, and his eyes flickering with something hot and alien and  _furious_.

"Yes, my lord."

"Sir," panted Paula, and she'd only just come around the corner. Her cheeks were flushed; she was wheezing, a hand to her ribcage, and silently Ciel swore to himself to never underestimate running females again. He remembered—he  _painfully_ remembered—what it was like to run around in a corset, and the one he'd worn hadn't been cinched nearly as tight as it should have been.

She had to take several deep breaths (as deep as she could without fainting) before she finally could speak. "Cutter's here. Cutter's  _here_. Miss Lizzy told me to come up here and find you but I don't know how much time we have left—"

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, and there were no words needed. There was a flash of black, and then he'd vanished down the hallway. Ciel lowered his voice. "Go and wait in the box. Don't talk to anyone. Don't go anywhere except the box, and when you get there, lock the door and  _stay there_."

Paula shook her head.

"Paula—"

"I'm not leaving Miss Lizzy."

 _Damn_  Elizabeth's tendency to inspire loyalty in people. He gritted his teeth. "You can't fight. You'd only be a hazard."

"I'll not leave her alone!"

He didn't have time for this. "Fine,” he snapped, and took a few skipping steps back, shifting from foot to foot. His muscles were almost jumping inside his skin; he'd been cooped up like a cat in a burrow for the past few weeks, unable to track down any news, to do anything, to punch anyone. Even with Sebastian free and at full (if capricious) capacity, he wouldn't object to landing a few blows himself. "Don't get in the way, and  _don't_  get caught."

"I can defend myself."

He snorted, but said nothing more. When he turned to head back down the hall—he didn't run, couldn't afford the attention brought by running, but he'd learned how to walk damn fast—Paula was right beside him.

* * *

 

The show was back on, which meant this part of backstage was nearly deserted as Elizabeth and Petrovsky and the automaton walked along. She wondered where Cutter was, and Caroline Fotheringhay. Somehow she doubted Petrovsky would be taking her to them. It wasn't logical to show his hand, or let her overhear anything that Cutter and Caroline would be talking about.  _That's assuming they want Caroline alive at all_. If the reapers were here for Caroline Fotheringhay, then there could be a few reasons—she knew too much, she knew nothing and was snooping, or she knew just enough to become dangerous if she continued her liaison with Elizabeth.

On the other hand, she doubted Petrovsky wanted to keep her alive either. The only question was how long they would be walking before he and his automaton tried something, and as much as she trusted the blades in her fan, she wasn't sure they would work all that well on an automaton.

 _Think, Elizabeth, think_. She'd brought her gun, too, but that was creasing her pocket and with the automaton holding on so tightly, she had no chance of pulling that. She tightened her grip on the fan, and flicked her eyes to Petrovsky. She'd never seen him fight, never spoken to him all that much. Edward's digging had turned up very little outside of his work with the Zodiac, and that was, of course, shrouded in 'company secrets'. She had no idea what he could do. It was making her nervous.

Of course it would be on the first day that she and Ciel were actually  _trying_ to work together without killing each other that she would trip into such an extreme muck-up. Elizabeth grimaced.  _I'm never going to hear the end of it._

They turned, and turned again, and finally shifted into a low-ceilinged corridor that had a thin wooden door at the end labeled  _exit_. Probably for the actors. Elizabeth glanced at Petrovsky again, and then at the automaton, whose grip had not slackened once during their walk. "You're going to kill me in the alleyway, then?"

Petrovsky spat something in Russian, and the automaton squeezed her arm hard. Thankfully, it wasn't the one that had been cut. Elizabeth scowled. "If I'm going to die I'd like to at least know where."

"Shut  _up_ , woman."

They were just closing in on the door when a hand whipped out from a side corridor, closed around her wrist, and yanked.

For an instant, she had absolutely no idea what was happening. The lights had gone out. She smacked into the wall from the force of the tug, and her shoulder—this time it  _was_ the one with the cut—screamed at her in protest. Petrovsky snarled something else in Russian, probably a curse, and then there was the sound of a scuffle, and a sharp male cry. Elizabeth swore too—she was almost healed, but that didn't mean these cuts weren't _painful_ —and as the automaton loomed up in front of her she twisted the fan and slashed the blades across the thing's throat. It made a rattling gasping sound, copper and iron; Elizabeth wrenched, but the fan was stuck fast. Hot drops of blood sprayed across her face. She shoved the thing away—it hit the wall with a rattle as she plunged her hand into her pocket, seizing her gun. It tore her skirt as she wrenched it free, aimed, but she couldn't fire. Another hand—Petrovsky's this time she was sure, by the thick fingers and the way that he drove his fingers into her flesh, automatically going for the most pain—seized her arm, squeezing hard, slamming her wrist against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone move, but the automaton, her fan sticking sickly out of its throat, lashed forward, and the man who'd helped her—she couldn't see his face, not in the dark—was shoved back into the nearest wall.

Petrovsky tightened his grip on her wrist, until her bones felt like they were being crushed and she couldn't help but whimper. She wouldn't have been able to shoot him, even if she'd managed to get her fingers to work. In his free hand, she saw a knife blade gleam. "Give. Me. The gun."

She shook her head wordlessly.

He shifted, turning to drive the knife into her, and when his grip on her arm loosened, Elizabeth didn't hesitate. Her instincts took over. Elizabeth slammed the barrel of her gun across Petrovsky's jaw, and when his head snapped to the side, she twisted out of his grasp, lifted her free hand to cup the handle, and pulled the trigger.

She was close enough to him that she felt the vibration of the bullet hitting him directly in the chest. She saw the blood well up and streak down his vest as Petrovsky stared at her, his eyes widening, getting bigger and bigger and bigger, until all she could see were his eyes as the pupils shrank to pinpricks. He fell to his knees first, and then he slipped forward and landed face down on the carpet, and Elizabeth suddenly realized she was trembling. She was cold and sweaty and shaking, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the man shove a now twitching automaton off of his chest. He stepped over the body, and looked at Petrovsky for a moment before glancing at Elizabeth. He had a scarf wrapped tight over his face, but his brilliant green eyes froze her in place.

 _It can't be_.

"Miss Middleford!" It was Stephen Fotheringhay. Theo slammed past him as he stalked off, knocking him into the wall, and Stephen made a squawking noise of protest. Then he turned to look at Elizabeth, and he made another noise, a mixture of a growl and a shriek. The color drained from his face. "What's happened? Are you all right? You're all over blood—"

She shook her head, and stepped away from Stephen only to tread on Petrovsky's fingers, and it sent a sick jolt through her body. Elizabeth shrieked and leapt away, holding tight to her gun, and she saw Stephen's eyes flick from the firearm to the man on the floor, the murdered woman and the blood spattered across her face.

He crouched, and set his fingers to Petrovsky's neck. She couldn't watch. Elizabeth closed her eyes and focused very hard on breathing.  _In. Out. In. Out._  A simple rhythm. But her concentration kept slipping. She could feel the ache in her hands from the recoil of the gun, smell the blood and gunpowder.

"He's dead," said Stephen, in a hushed, frightened voice, and it struck her in the belly, hard. She forgot how to inhale. Elizabeth looked down at her clean hands, staring, uncomprehending. "He's dead. My God. He's dead."

Elizabeth couldn't breathe. She wanted to vomit. The gun slipped out of her hands and clattered on the floor as she took two steps back, tripped over her skirts, and hit the ground herself.  _What happened?_  She couldn't remember. Couldn't comprehend.  _My God. He's dead_.

Out of the darkness stepped Ronald Knox. He smiled at her, his yellow-green eyes appreciative behind his glasses as he brought his hands together in slow applause. She looked up at him, and it was all she could do just to stare.

"Well done, love. Well done."

No time for comprehension. Just sharp sick shock, horror, anger, terror. She lashed out, and Knox caught her by the wrist before she could punch him. "Easy there, darling. The ladies won't like it if you damage my face."

She couldn't speak. What was it Papa had said?  _Nobody ever knows if they're ready to kill, sweetheart, not until it happens and you have that choice in front of you. That unbearable, horrible, glorious choice._ It hadn't been like that. It hadn't been like that at all. It had been a split second. Kill or be killed. No choice involved, not that she could think of.  _Him or me. That's all it was. Him or me_. And she was sick thinking of it, because what would her parents say?  _Oh, God. I've killed a man. I'm a murderess. I'm a murderess and I shot him and he's dead because of me._

"Oh God,” she said, and pressed the back of her hand against her lips.

"Get a hold of yourself, love," said Knox, and he was stupidly, disgustingly cheerful as he bent down by the body to double-check for life. Stephen was still crouched, shuddering, back against the wall, his eyes fixed on Petrovsky's dead ones. "I don't particularly want to deal with hysterics as well as dead bodies tonight, especially not before a party."

 _The job. The job. Do the job._  She tore her eyes away from the body and fixed them on Knox's shoulder instead. "Do your work and leave, then," she said, and her voice, thank God, didn't waver. "Because I don't want to look at you."

Knox clicked his tongue against his teeth. "This isn't my only job though, sweetheart. We have to stick around for a little while longer. You'd better scoot, though. William won't be happy to see either of you hanging around a crime scene."

 _The point is someone in this theatre is going to die, and they have something to do with the Zodiac._  How was it they'd been stupid enough to not worry about who killed him?

"I don't care about your bloody partner!" Elizabeth shouted, and even though she could see Stephen shaking out of the corner of her eye, rubbing his fingers together and watching the blood stick, she didn't care. "I care about Caroline Fotheringhay!"

Stephen snapped to attention, but Knox blinked at her curiously.

"Who?"

The world shifted under her feet. The scent of blood was getting to her now. She had to get outside. She couldn't look at Petrovsky again. She bent down, and her fingers closed reflexively around the gun. "Caroline Fotheringhay. You were sent here to reap her, weren't you?"

"Never heard of her." Knox fingered his chin for a moment. "I saw a couple come through a few minutes ago though. The woman looked posh. Dark hair, dark eyes. They went outside." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "If that's all…"

"But—"  _The point is someone in this theatre is going to die, and they have something to do with the Zodiac_. With Petrovsky, the count was filled.  _This isn't my only job, though…_ They just hadn't thought of a body count more than one. Elizabeth looked at Knox for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest, and her stomach rolled, as though she'd just boarded the  _Campania_  once again. "Who were you sent here to reap?"

"So he told you, did he?" Knox smiled a bit, and there was a hint of danger in that smile, danger and mischief both. "That's unexpected. My lord Phantomhive usually plays his cards so close to his chest."

"That's not the  _point_ , Mr. Knox!  _Who were you sent here to reap_?"

The reaper looked at her for a moment longer. Then he leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips were cool. It made her skin crawl.

"You have nine minutes," he whispered in her ear, and then he'd vanished back down the hallway, leaving them with the body. Stephen stood, shaking.

"Miss Middleford?"

She looked down at the gun in her hands. Then she looked up, and she felt her throat close up, her eyes water. She nearly burst into tears right there. She took a breath, and wiped her eyes before reaching forward, offering her hand. "Come on. I think I know where your mother is."

Stephen watched her for a moment longer, considering, and she  _saw_ the moment when he decided to trust her. She saw it in his eyes, and that made everything worse.

"Right," he said, and set his hand in hers.


	26. His Cousin, Defended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: blood, gun violence, death.

Grey was particularly displeased. It was easy enough for anyone with a functioning set of eyes to tell: he was in full-on pout (or scowl, depending on the light), drumming his fingers irritably against the edge of the roof. He had a hat crammed over his silver hair, and their white uniforms were both hidden under heavy coats. Phipps pulled his tightly closed, watching his partner absently out of the corner of his eye. Grey had never been the most patient of people, which was a considerable flaw for his occupation. He had always wondered how Grey had found the mental stamina to take this job in the first place.

"He's late." He rubbed the end of his nose, frustrated.

"He said he would find us once the second act started."

"That was  _before_  Phantomhive and his butler showed up, not to mention the girl." Grey rubbed his nose again, and then lowered his hand to drum his fingers against the hilt of his sword. "We can't depend on words now. They have an aggravating talent of getting in the way at precisely the wrong time."

"Well, there's not much we can do about it at this point," said Phipps, but he checked his pocket watch anyway. The second act had started a good ten minutes ago. "We'll wait five more minutes."

Grey gave him a level look, and then said, "You're talkative today."

"Boredom does things to you,” Phipps dismissed, and then turned back to his pocket watch. It was all scratched up on one side, but the Scottish thistle design was still perfectly visible, and the dial on top that pushed in to change the time was still spinning. He twisted it in between his fingers a few times—the only ritual he allowed himself before a job—before tucking the watch back into his waistcoat pocket and glancing over the edge of the Savoy. The back alley was one of the few he'd seen in London that didn't have human-shaped rats scuttling around, digging through the garbage. He supposed it was because of the backstage entrance. Too many people coming in and out meant that there were too many chances for someone to call for a constable.

"It all seems a bit convenient, doesn't it?"

Grey had shifted, from rapping the edge of the roof to tapping out a heartbeat against the silver top of his walking stick. Phipps looked at him, lifting one eyebrow in a response, and the butler continued. "That they show up at this exact performance."

"They're following other leads." There was a couple in the alleyway now, an orange seller and one of the footmen waiting outside for their masters. Phipps scowled. It wasn't the sort of behavior that was to be expected in public, even in an alleyway. It was too early in the evening for that sort of thing.

"Undoubtedly, but I don't like it. If he doesn't show up in the next minute, I say we go and find out what the tiny earl is working on."

"Probably his scowl, if I know him at all," said Theodore Parker, and Grey had his sword out and the tip pressed to Parker's throat before the American man had taken more than two steps out of the shadows cast over the rooftop. Phipps didn't bother moving. There was no stopping Grey when he was in a sour mood, after all. Parker glanced at Phipps once before focusing on Grey, pulling his scarf down, away from his face. There was blood smeared on his hands and across his jacket. "Sorry. Ran into a bit of a complication."

"It'd better be a good story. I'm not in a particularly pleasant mood."

"You'll get your penny novel manure, but put the sword down first. You can even search me if you like. I swear I'm unarmed. I'm not idiotic enough to meet with you to carrying weaponry."

"That's debatable," said Grey. He waited until Parker opened his coat—no gun, no knife—before he lowered his sword. "I don't like complications, Parker."

"Neither do I, but remember you're the ones who sought  _me_  out, not the other way around. I don't have any reason to be here at all."

"Don't you?" said Phipps, and Parker's eyes slid over to him again, going dangerously half-lidded in the low light.

"Don't test me, Charlie. I don't appreciate it."

Stalemate. Silence for a long moment. Then Grey sighed, sheathing his blade and crossing his arms over his chest.  _Always with the dramatics_. "Fine. We have what you wanted. Do you have our payment?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" quipped Parker, but he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small package wrapped in brown paper, which he tossed to Phipps. It felt like a book, or a small heavy box. "That's only half of it, though. The rest you get when I get my information."

"If you hadn't split it up, I probably would have castrated you for your own stupidity." Grey caught the package Phipps tossed to him, and shook it lightly by his ear, listening. Phipps didn't take his eyes off of Parker, careful to keep his mouth shut. "It's interesting, you know, that you've come this far for such a trivial bit of information."

"I'm not interested in the monologue,  _my lord_. I'm on a tight schedule as it is."

Phipps winced. Grey went silent and still for a worrying moment, and then he dug down into his own pocket and threw the packet of papers at Parker. Parker flicked through a few of them, his eyebrows going up, before nodding, reaching into his coat for one final time, and removed a small key.

"Everything's in the box already. You need this to open it without destroying everything, though." The key flashed through the air, and dropped to the roof with a soft tinkling sound, like wind hitting bells. Phipps put his shoe on it and didn't bend down to pick it up. "Nice doing business with you gentlemen."

Grey waited until the door had shut behind Parker before gritting his teeth. His voice came out a snarl. "You have no idea how much I hate that man."

Phipps crouched, and collected the key. "The Queen will want that as soon as possible."

"I know. You don't have to lecture me."

He'd learned a long time ago that there was no use talking to Grey when the man was in a mood. Phipps kept his mouth shut as they clattered down the stairs. The ride back to the palace would be stony silent, he could already tell.

_The things we do for queen and country._

* * *

 

To her credit, Paula did not scream, vomit, or faint at the sight of the body in the hallway, though she did become rather pale and had to catch her balance against the wall at first sight of it. Ciel crouched by the corpse, setting his fingers lightly against the throat. Still warm. No pulse. He hadn't been dead long. He tugged at the wig, and when it came off in his hands, he dropped it by the body. Blonde hair winked up at him, and he set a foot against the man's shoulder, shoving him over onto his back. Petrovsky. "Is this him? The one that Elizabeth went with."

"That's him." She looked sick. "Why would this have…"

"Generally when you're a kidnapper and a murderer, you get lambasted for it." He set his fingertips in the blood, rubbing them together. Still wet. No real coagulation. Farther back he could see another body, a woman, with something sticking up out of the middle of her chest. Elizabeth's bladed fan. His heartbeat kicked up a notch, blood thick in his nose as he strode over and wrenched it from the woman's chest, exposing clockwork parts. The gaslight glinted off of her glass eyes. "We have to be right behind them. Well, that's fortunate."

"Unfortunate?" said Paula, and despite how pale she was, there was sharp judgment in her eyes. "That's a murdered man you're prodding, my lord."

"He wasn't a particularly good one." Bullet wound. That meant Sebastian hadn't been through here, or if he had, he'd observed and moved on quickly enough that his feet hadn't even touched the blood. There were only two sets of tracks moving away from the body, and he had a sneaking suspicion that one of them belonged to Elizabeth. "They must have gone out the back door."

"They?"

He didn't answer immediately. Paula was intelligent enough to figure it out on her own, especially once he pulled her away from the body. If someone had pulled a gun, though, that meant that the possibility of a fight had just become that much stronger, and despite Elizabeth's trust in the woman, she was really only a maid. After a moment, he said, "If it comes to a fight, Paula, I want you to stay out of the way."

Paula pursed her lips, and strode past him without another word. The tip of her shoe landed in the blood as she passed, leaving little spots of red on the carpet. Rather than following the tracks down to the back door, though, she turned off into a side-passage. Ciel hissed under his breath. " _Paula_!"

Silence for a moment. Then Paula swore, loudly, in Italian— _Italian_?—and Ciel stood up just in time to see her slam the slender body of John Brown into the nearest wall, twisting his arm up high behind his back, holding a short-bladed dagger against his spine. She turned her head just slightly, darting him a glance, and then she said, "He was watching."

"Mr. Brown," said Ciel, and Brown twisted as much as he could without slicing his spine open. His face was as blank as always, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

"My lord Phantomhive." When he shifted again, Paula pressed her knife closer against his neck. A thin line of blood dribbled down into his collar. "Call off your bitch."

"She's not my bitch, and I'm not sure I would even if she was." Ciel glanced up and down the hallway before stepping into the side passage. Paula did not let go of the knife. "What are you here for?"

"The Queen is becoming impatient,” John Brown said, in his flat voice. "You promised an answer long before this."

"I know what they're doing. Most of them are dead. You can add one more to that list." He didn't glance back at the body of Petrovsky, though it was a battle. "Sebastian came through here, didn't he?"

"Came and went. It's why I stayed, my lord. It's so very rare to see you without your hound."

The blow went wide. Ciel's mouth twisted. "The purpose of a dog is that it is to be used. That can't be done if I smother it in blankets and keep it locked away in the cellar, now can it?"

"Admittedly not." He shifted again, and Paula made a soft squeak when more blood leaked down his collar. "This is not particularly comfortable."

"You still haven't answered my question." Ciel glanced at Paula, who didn't move. "What are you doing here, Brown? If you wanted to give me the Queen's opinion, you could have just visited this afternoon, instead of lurking about backstage corridors watching men get shot."

"My lord Phantomhive!" Grey's merry voice came echoing down the hall, and it startled Paula enough that Brown slipped like an eel from her grasp, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to press against his bleeding throat. "What an absolute displeasure to see you! I rather thought you would muck everything up again, and look!" He smiled. "You've left more bodies for us to clean up."

"That wasn't me."

"No, it was your little cousin. And I'm sure it was fascinating to see. Has she ever killed anyone before?" Paula went even paler, if that was possible, and Ciel had to grab her elbow to keep her on her feet. Grey clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Oh, you didn't know? Hadn't guessed? Who else could have done it? Am I right, Brown?"

"You are correct, sir."

"Brilliant. I love being right. Don't you love being right?"

Ciel lost his temper. He slammed his fist against the wall, ignoring the shuddering ache that lanced up his arm. Grey shut up, though his small wicked smile didn't slip from his face. "Answer my question!  _What are you doing here_?"

"Just a simple business venture. We won't get in the way." He chucked Ciel under the chin, and Ciel jerked back, hating his height, hating his pretty face, because Grey would have never treated him like this if Ciel had looked anything like his father. "Ooh, grouchy, are we? Oh, well. We'll play later. Come on, Phipps. I've been craving curry all day, and for some reason I think we finally have time. Ta, little Phantomhive. I'm sure I'll see you soon."

Ciel gritted his teeth, but he stepped aside. He thought he saw Grey step on Petrovsky's hand as they passed the body. It was only after they'd vanished down the hall that Paula pulled away from him, stumbled, and landed in a heap on the floor, her knife clattering out of her shaking hands. Her eyes were wet with tears.

"Miss Lizzy didn't kill him, did she?"

There was no reason for the Queen's butlers to lie. They would have come up with a much more convincing one if they were. Still, he couldn't help it; he clenched his hands into fists and let himself hope they had been. Paula must have seen the truth in his face, because she hid hers in her knees, wrapping her arms tight around herself.

Ciel hesitated. Then he reached forward and touched her hair, lightly, before turning and padding away. If Lizzy was still around, and Sebastian was still on the prowl, then he had work to do.

* * *

 

Cutter and Caroline Fotheringhay were standing at the dank end of the alley, waiting, when Elizabeth and Stephen finally worked their way out of the theatre. The back door screeched when she opened it and screeched when she closed it, so she wasn't entirely surprised to find Cutter waiting with a blade in his hand. She  _was_ surprised to see that Caroline didn't seem bothered by it, or if she was, she was keeping that feeling very close to her chest. Elizabeth lifted her gun and kept walking, and behind her Stephen stuck close to her side, like a wary puppy waiting to be struck.

"Well, this is a coincidence,” she said, and stopped five feet away, careful to stay out of reach. Caroline Fotheringhay had turned snake-belly white, and she looked from Elizabeth to her son to Cutter and back again, her mouth opening and closing. Elizabeth wondered if she was as soaked in blood as she felt. "How is it I always find you with a woman, Cutter?

She felt dangerous. She felt dark and dangerous and deadly. This wasn't her, but it had to be her, just like it had been her when she'd shot Vladimir Petrovsky, and just like it had been her when she'd stepped aside and let Theodore Parker and his sister vanish into the depths of the manorhouse.  _Why couldn't I kill Felicity then? Why could I kill Petrovsky now?_  It wasn't those questions that mattered though, not right now. She turned just slightly. "Stephen, get your mother out of here."

"Elizabeth, dear, where did you get that  _gun_?" Caroline said, and her voice was little more than a whisper. Cutter took a step closer to Caroline, a dare, and Elizabeth fired. The bullet ricocheted with a flash of sparks off of the cobblestones. Cutter froze.

"Don't test me." She looked at Stephen again. "Go.  _Go._  Get her out of here before the police come."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine.  _Go_."

Neither of them protested. She waited until their footsteps faded and the door screamed shut again before she tightened her grip on the trigger. "What were you doing with Caroline Fotheringhay?"

"Talking,” Cutter said. His voice was rough and raspy. "Just talking." His eyes never left her face. "Fancy meeting you here, Miss Middleford. I thought Petrovsky would have found you by now."

"He did." Her hands shook slightly. She tightened her grip on the gun and gestured. "Put the knife down and kick it over here."

He obeyed. She set her shoe on the blade, carefully. "On your knees."

His mouth twisted. Something flickered in his face. Elizabeth squeezed the trigger a bit. "Down on your knees _,_ Cutter. Do it before I put a bullet in your head."

"It's what you're going to do anyway."

"Not yet. We want to talk to you a bit first. Now  _get down on your knees_."

He knelt, and put his hands behind his head. Elizabeth crouched to pick up the knife. It was slick and heavy in her hands, and it smelled like hospital chemicals. She tossed it away, waiting for it to skitter into the dark.

Ciel and Sebastian would have realized something had gone wrong by now. She wondered how far away they were. And Ronald Knox had said nine minutes…her knuckles were aching from her grip on the pistol. "Were you going to kill her? Lady Fotheringhay."

Nothing. Cutter was watching her almost curiously, as though examining an experiment gone wrong, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was a miracle that her first shot hadn't brought the police down on all their heads. She couldn't afford to shoot him now, not without getting herself arrested, and they both knew it. Still, she said, "It would be advisable for you to answer my question, Mr. Cutter. I can get away before the police get here, but you…you can't. Not with a bullet—" her voice quavered at the word, but her grasp of the gun held true "—in your head."

He studied her for a moment longer. Then he grinned. It was the first time she could remember that Cutter had had any sort of real expression, and it made her shift anxiously on the balls of her feet. "What does it matter to you? Is she your friend, little Lizzy Middleford?"

"Not particularly. I'd just rather not watch you murder an innocent woman."

He scoffed a bit. "Nobody's innocent."

"Is that what you tell yourself? So you can sleep at night?" How long had she been talking? Five minutes? Maybe a little less.  _You have nine minutes._  Four minutes left. Until what? Until she killed Cutter? Until she died herself? Until Ciel died, or Paula, or Caroline, or Stephen?  _Oh, God, no_. She didn't know.  _Paula and Stephen are innocent. They don't deserve to die_. And Ciel. Her whole body clenched up at the thought of that.  _I shouldn't love him. I shouldn't. But oh, God. I think I do_. If Ciel died, she wouldn't be able to breathe. No matter how many times she told herself it would be healthier to hate him, no matter how much pain he'd put her through and how much fury she still had coiling in her stomach, how much she would never be able to forgive him for what he'd done, she still loved him. And if he died…

Somehow she never thought about Sebastian.

"Maybe," said Cutter, and she snapped back to reality. "Is that all you have to ask? Because I'd rather die sooner than later if you don't mind."

"Where is the Director?"

"Oxford," said Cutter, and Elizabeth's eyes felt ready to pop out of her head, because it didn't look like he was lying. His lips twisted a bit at her expression. "He's been wanting to meet you again, you and your cousin. Told me to tell you where to come if you ever wanted to visit."

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. "Really."

"You can find him in the Radcliffe Camera every Wednesday afternoon at two." Cutter smiled a bit. "Now. Is that all?"

"I should kill you,” she said, peeling her fingers away from the handle of the gun for a moment. They ached. Cutter said nothing. He watched her, and he looked so strikingly  _ordinary._ Brown hair, brown eyes. He would melt into anonymity if the world let him. "I should kill you for everything you've done."

"You won't," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was wrong. She wondered how many people were dead because of him, how many women had been slaughtered, how many of Colleen's friends were gone because of him and because of the man lying dead in the hallway behind her, but for some reason, the gun was getting heavier and heavier in her hands. She felt dark and evil and dangerous, but the gun was like lead, dragging her down, and her chest was getting tight. She wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there, face to face, simply waiting. Cutter still hadn't said a damn word, and that did it. She pulled the trigger.

Cutter let out a guttural cry as he fell to the side. Blood sprayed. She'd hit him in the leg. Elizabeth took a few steps closer, and held the gun in her shaking hands, clinging to it. "Tell me why I shouldn't  _kill_ you, monster!"

There was a long moment of silence, except for the ringing in her ears from the gunshots. Then Cutter laughed, and the sound made her stumble back and drop the pistol. It clattered against the stones. He laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed, and Elizabeth simply stared at him, her stomach rolling because it sounded wrong. It sounded sick. Then he finally smiled at her, and she clenched her hands into her skirt and stared at him.

"You're such a stupid little child, Lizzy Middleford. You want to know why you can't pull that trigger? It's because you're weak. It's because you've always been weak, and even dressing up like a lady and covered in blood you're never going to be anything more than a stupid, whimpering little  _maggot—"_

She screamed, and lunged forward. There was a flash of black, and then Sebastian— _Sebastian_ —was between her and the automaton that had appeared from nowhere, ticking, ticking, ticking, and then someone had seized her by the arms and wrenched her back, out of the way. Ciel. She bucked and writhed and screamed again, her eyes never leaving Cutter as more automata poured from the alley, not fighting, just linked together, a wall between Sebastian and their prey, and she could still hear his laughter echoing down the alley. Hot breath ghosted against her ear. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth, _stop it_. Stop it  _now—_ "

"Let me  _go_!"

"No,” he said, and he was curt and dismissive and everything that stabbed. Elizabeth screamed again, and struggled harder, trying every trick she knew, but Ciel had learned from the best just like she had, and his grip stayed wiry-tight around her, one hand pinning her arms behind her back, the other tight around her waist. He nearly lifted her off her feet to keep her from breaking his toes. "Elizabeth _,_ stop. You need to  _stop_."

There was something in his voice that made her pause. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen Fotheringhay and his mother standing on the stoop, Ronald Knox beside them. He held up one finger, and smiled a bit, and she felt her throat burning from the words she couldn't say.  _One minute_. She felt the tears hot on her cheeks, but who knew if Knox was lying?  _There's no reason for him to lie_ , something whispered inside her, but she couldn't believe that, not now, not with Petrovsky's blood on her skirt and her gun lying a few feet away.

Ciel's grip on her loosened, just slightly. She'd stopped struggling. Slowly, he let her slip out of his arms, and Elizabeth stepped away from him to collect her gun. If she was going to be a murderess, she might as well keep her weapon.

" _GET DOWN_!"

It was Ciel who shouted. Someone drove into her side, knocking her to the street. There was a shot, and a wild scream as Stephen Fotheringhay hit the stone, his glasses cracked and smeared with blood. Elizabeth scrambled forward, setting her hands over the hole in his chest as Sebastian skittered up the wall like a spider and vanished onto the nearest rooftop. The screams started as blood bubbled on Stephen's lips. He was trying to speak.

"Don't you die," said Elizabeth. Caroline was screaming, trying to get to them. She could feel something hot and wet against her knees. She refused to believe it was blood. "Don't you die, don't you  _dare_  die—"

Stephen whispered something, a name, a single name. She barely heard it. Then she was pushed aside, and Elizabeth let it happen. Caroline was crying. Why hadn't anyone come? There had been gunshots and all this sound but no one had come, there was no one to stop it, not any of it. "Help us!" shouted Caroline, and she whipped around to stare at Ciel. "For God's sake, help us!"

Ciel called for Sebastian. For an instant, there was nothing; then there was a dull wet thump as a body fell from the sky, bones shattering, blood spraying everywhere. She didn't recognize him. A broken gun landed beside it. Sebastian dropped down beside it less than a second later, and slid in between Caroline Fotheringhay and her son, his gloves streaked with crimson. "My lady, I can help. Please let me try."

The world faded into static, then. There was blood on her hands. Elizabeth stared at her bare palms, which were riddled all over with tiny swordplay scars, and the streaks of crimson looked black in the darkness of the alleyway. She could smell it on her skin. Her knees felt damp, and when she looked down, she was kneeling in more blood. Behind her, she heard the click of a shoe, but it wasn't Sebastian's hand that landed lightly on her shoulder, or Ronald Knox's.

"Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shook her head, knocked his hand away, and crawled back from the body, never tearing her eyes from it. Sebastian was kneeling over it, and he didn't bother unbuttoning Stephen's jacket and waistcoat and shirt; he tore them all away and the blood welled up sick and wet on his pale chest and Elizabeth couldn't look at it anymore. She scraped along the pavement until her small of her back clipped the steps, and then she stopped, and buried her face in her hands. Dampness smeared over her cheeks, and it felt thicker than the tears. She could still see Stephen, embedded in her brain, the blood and the bullet and the stain, and she was suddenly crying. She couldn't breathe. She could see Petrovsky too, and feel the gun in her hands even though it was still lying lonely on the ground.

"Elizabeth,” Ciel said again, and he knelt in front of her, with an expression she hadn't seen in years. He reached out, took her wrists, and pulled her hands lightly away from her face. "Lizzy."

He wasn't supposed to look like that. He wasn't supposed to make her stomach flip, even now. He wasn't supposed to be able to reduce her to this. He wasn't supposed to be  _kind_ , not now, not ever, and Elizabeth reared back, wrenching away, and lashed out. He caught her hand before she slapped him, and closed his fingers around hers, lightly.

She broke.

Elizabeth didn't scream. She didn't sob. She didn't make a sound at all. She simply slid forward, wrapping her arms tight around him, and  _breathed._ His  _tangzhuang_  smelled musty, but under that was soap and skin and just…Ciel. His hair was feather-soft against her cheek, and he went quite still for a moment, unsure. There was a breathless pause where she thought he might push her away. Then he shuddered a bit, and his arms came down tight around her. He shifted to rest his forehead to rest in the crook of her neck, and he clung on, his fingers tangling in her hair. To her shock, she could feel them trembling. She was trembling too, her heartbeat going loud in her ears. Behind him, she could see Ronald Knox, hiding in the shadows cast by the Savoy, standing over the dead man. He was watching them with glinting eyes, his head cocked to the side, as though this was something he had never seen before. That expression alone made her want to wrench away, but only for a second.

Ciel didn't say anything. Elizabeth couldn't speak. For the first time in a very long time, the world finally felt right under her feet again. It made no sense and every kind of sense, and even though this would make everything complicated, she didn't let go.

"He's alive," said Sebastian, and she snapped back into sense. Elizabeth pulled away, quickly. She could breathe again. Alive.  _Alive_. "He needs immediate medical attention."

"Is Bard on his way?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do it," Ciel replied, and without another word Sebastian gathered Stephen Fotheringhay up in his arms and vanished. The door screeched open and Paula came out. Elizabeth only had to meet her gaze before the maid took a few steps forward and wrapped Elizabeth up in her arms, and it felt safe. It was different from the hug she'd given Ciel, but it had the same feeling of truth. It had the same feeling of home. She wondered why she was shaking.

Nobody said a word. The police would be coming, and they would be coming soon, and they had very little time.

Caroline turned. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks wet, her hands smeared with blood and grime. It looked like she'd been through a war. She took a deep shuddering breath, and then another.

"I'm coming with you."

Elizabeth glanced at Ciel, fisting her hand in the skirt of her dress. At the front of the alley, Bard's carriage rattled to a stop, blocking the sight of the street. In the distance she could hear the clanging of police bells. There was no hesitation in him when Ciel cocked his head, smiled one of his Phantomhive smiles, and said, "Well, of course. You first, my lady Fotheringhay."

Caroline stood, seized her torn skirts in her hands, and clambered up into the carriage. Paula was next. Ciel glanced at Elizabeth, and then back at the body of the shooter, the one that looked like a pulverized melon. "I'll wait here until the police come."

"You'll be arrested."

"No, I won't."

Elizabeth studied him for a long moment, and wondered what he was hiding. Then she saw the glint of glasses at the other end of the alley. Every part of her was screaming at her to leave, to get out of here, to never come back to this place, but that little glint gave her pause. "I'll stay."

"Elizabeth, I need you to keep an eye on Caroline Fotheringhay. The Zodiac has already tried to take her once, there's no guarantee they won't try again." He lowered his voice. "You're the only one I trust to keep her safe."

"You're trying to manipulate me,” she said. She was too tired to care. After a moment, she sighed. "You'll tell me what they learn."

"If it gets you to shut up."

Elizabeth ignored him. Her hands were still shaking as she clambered up into the carriage herself and pulled the door shut. She peered out of the window at him. "No more lies."

"No more lies,” Ciel replied, and gestured to Bard. Elizabeth pulled the curtains closed.

"Your mother is going to kill me," said Paula, and it was only then that the maid buried her face in her hands and started to cry.


	27. His Cousin, The Morning After

The little strip of paper crinkled in her fingers when Elizabeth finally went through her dress pocket. Bard had taken them directly to the Phantomhive townhouse, where Sebastian, who had transformed back into his usual self, met them at the door to inform them that Stephen was currently being seen to by the finest doctor he had been able to find. She hadn't even bothered to try and stop Caroline Fotheringhay from going to be with her son, only turned to Bard and asked if he could find Maylene so she could have a bath.

She ended up taking three. One to get the blood off, one to scrub herself until she was raw, and one to soak in until she was flushed red as a lobster and dizzy from the heat. When she clambered out, she nearly slipped on the tile floor.

She'd given the dress to Maylene to burn. She had no desire to wear the thing, ever again.

It was only once she'd been wrapped up in a Japanese robe—there were many of them in the guest rooms, for some reason, but they were comfortable, so she wasn't complaining—that Elizabeth unfolded the slip of paper that she'd hidden in one of the drawers of the bedside table.

_If you wish to learn more about what we discussed, be in front of the funeral parlor at twilight on Thursday. One of the girls will take you where you need to go._

Thursday. And the Director had been insisting on Wednesday. Elizabeth fed the bit of paper to the flames and hissed when it burned at her fingertips. She wasn't sure she had the soul to do anything on Wednesday. Or Thursday. Or ever. She wasn't sure she had the ability to do anything other than sit and stare at the wall for the rest of her life, and rub at her hands like she was Lady Macbeth. She forced herself to stop, and flopped back onto the bed, ignoring the dampness of her hair against the blankets.

 _I'm a murderess_.

What a curious thing to be. It was something very few people ended up becoming.  _That's because most people don't work with the Queen's Watchdog._  She was a murderess. She'd killed someone. She'd killed someone _horrible_ , but that didn't lift the life off of her shoulders. And to be honest, she'd almost been ready to kill Cutter, too.

 _He should be dead_ , something dark and frightening inside her said, and Elizabeth closed her eyes so she didn't have to hear it. Maybe so she could hear it better.  _He's ruined so many lives. He hurt Colleen. He should be dead._

"Miss Lizzy?" It was Maylene. The maid pushed her glasses up her nose as Elizabeth opened her eyes and turned her head to look. "Um….Lady Fotheringhay wants to talk to you."

 _Job to do, Lizzy darling. Don't just sit around._ "Oh." She looked down at her robe. "Is there anything I can wear?"

Maylene hesitated, and then curtsied and vanished down the hall, and Elizabeth heard a vase shatter.  _There goes the Ming_. Ciel would pitch a fit. Elizabeth curled her fingers around the fringe on one of the nearby pillows, and pulled it to her, wrapping her arms around it and pressing the cushion against her clenching stomach. She didn't know what to think anymore. She didn't know who to be. There was an aching feeling inside her, like something had been carved out of her body and tossed away. Her innocence, maybe.  _Doing…this, you lose that. You lose it so fast, it's like it's…torn away from you._ Was this what had happened to Ciel? Did this happen to every Watchdog?

Did this—losing whatever it was she had lost—happen to everyone?

"My lady," chirped Maylene, and when Elizabeth looked up the maid was carrying clothes she almost recognized. "I…don't have anything that would fit you in my wardrobe, but the earl…um." She colored pink. "You're about the same size and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's all right," said Elizabeth, and she sat up and let the pillow fall to the side. It rolled off the bed and onto the ground, just brushing her feet. "I'll wear them. If he complains, don't feed him."

Maylene coughed a little—whether it was out of shock or to hide a sputter of laughter, Elizabeth wasn't sure—and left the clothes on the chair, shutting the door quietly behind her. Elizabeth picked through the clothes. As much as she'd always loved the child Ciel in frilly, fluffy things, she rather liked this turn for the simple that his wardrobe had taken. It meant she would look less ridiculous.

The shirt was a little tight across the chest—Ciel's clothes weren't cut for a bosom, after all—but the pants fit well, and so did the jacket. She went barefoot and left her hair to curl and dry naturally. She did, however, take her gun and tuck it into the jacket pocket.  _Bear the burden_.

Stephen was in one of the guest rooms on the first floor, unconscious and pale as anything. Elizabeth kept her eyes away from him. His mother sat beside the bed, clinging to his hand. She hadn't changed. It didn't look like she was even breathing. The stench of blood filled the room, and Elizabeth went to the window and cracked it open a little to keep herself from vomiting. "Lady Fotheringhay."

"Get out." Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "I don't wish to see you."

The words struck her like a slap. Elizabeth flinched, and took several deep breaths.  _Work. Work. Work. Remember._  "That's unfortunate, my lady, but I'm afraid we don't have that much time."

"I said  _get out_."

"Funny, because you were so very eager to talk to me before." Elizabeth gripped the window frame tight, digging her nails into the wood. "Trying to get information pass on to the Zodiac?"

Lady Fotheringhay's head turned, just slightly. Her hair was falling out of its complicated bun, making wispy designs at the back of her neck. She said nothing. Elizabeth hesitated before leaving the window, sitting at the end of Stephen's bed. He didn't make a sound. "…how is he?"

"He almost died,” Caroline said woodenly. "The bullet glanced off a rib and went out through his back. It's a miracle it didn't hit him in the heart." She glanced at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth couldn't tell if the expression on the woman's face was hatred or forgiveness. "It would have killed you if he hadn't pushed you down."

Elizabeth felt a chill up her arms. She swallowed. "…I know."

Caroline Fotheringhay looked at her for a moment longer before turning back to her son. She lifted Stephen's hand and pressed it to her lips, absently. Elizabeth still wasn't sure whether or not Caroline was going to try and rake her eyes out. You never knew what a sickbed companion would do, not really. Caroline took a breath. "He's the only thing I have left."

"Whose is he?"

Caroline's fingers tightened on Stephen's. She said nothing. Elizabeth pushed on. "Is he…is Henry Fotheringhay his father?"

"And whose else would he be?" said Caroline, in a brittle voice, but Elizabeth simply looked at her, and Caroline broke.

"He's Henry's. No doubt. Stephen was six when I finally struck up a friendship with Damian again, and we didn't…not for years. Not until I realized that my marriage doesn't actually exist."

Elizabeth blinked at her, confused.

"My husband has a mistress, Miss Middleford,” Caroline said it calmly, matter-of-factly, and it made her very nervous. "A French whore that he keeps in a flat off of the Strand. He's been abroad with her for six months now, and I doubt he'll be coming back anytime soon." She squeezed Stephen's hand again. "He…he doesn't know. Stephen. I've kept it from him. I don't think anybody in England knows but me, and now you."

Elizabeth didn't quite know what to say. She didn't have to say anything. Caroline Fotheringhay was speaking quickly now, the words avalanching out of her. "Damian…I've always cared for Damian. We were engaged when we were young, secretly, but then my father found out, and we were forced to break the engagement. Damian left and went to the Japan islands in order to build his trading company. I married Henry, which pleased my father, and I had Stephen. I was happy. I thought of Damian every day, but I…I was  _happy_. And then I met Veronique, and I realized what was going on between her and my husband, and I decided to ignore it. For Stephen's sake." She rubbed her thumb over the back of her son's hand. "And then Damian came back—Nathaniel reintroduced him to me, he didn't know—and Damian had a wife and a daughter and even though I just…I couldn't. I thought I could talk myself out of it. And then I…"

She took a breath. "He never talked to me about his work. Not much. But…but he was different than I remembered. More jumpy. I didn't realize it until he introduced me to Mr. Cutter and I realized that he was frightened. I asked him why so many times, but he wouldn't…he wouldn't tell me." A tear slipped down her cheek. "And now he's dead, and…and in all honesty it's quite possible my son isn't going to survive the night. So I'd rather not…talk about it. If it's all the same to you."

If she had been Ciel, she would have ignored that. If she had been Ciel, or Lau, or Sebastian, she would have pushed and prodded and used every trick she knew to keep Caroline talking. But she was too tired. Elizabeth squeezed the woman's shoulder, ignoring the way she stiffened, and stood.

"Stephen's strong,” she said. "He'll survive."

Caroline said nothing for a very long moment. Then she twisted, looking up into Elizabeth's face. There was still blood crusted under her jaw, and her hair was hanging in strands down around her face. She needed to bathe and change and sleep, but Elizabeth highly doubted any of that would happen until Stephen either died or woke up. There was a cross hanging around her neck, Elizabeth realized, and her hand fluttered up to her own throat. She'd never been one for crosses.

"I'll tell you what I know," said Caroline Fotheringhay. "But only if you promise me to do everything in your power to get my son and my nephew out of this alive."

* * *

 

Theodore shut the door behind him with a click and leaned on the wood and glass, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. He'd run from the Savoy to the little house he'd engaged a few months ago under the name of Douglas Lincoln, which had made Fee cackle at the time. The woman they'd leased the place from hadn't batted an eyelash, which was more of an indicator of English perceptions of America than anything else he'd run into so far.

It was quiet inside, except for the ticking of the clock and his breathing. The coals were glowing warm in the grates. The whole places smelled of burning fabrics, and on top of the blood and the stench of the street on his boots it was making his head hurt.

"Theo." Felicity. She peered out of the door to the library, wrapped in a dressing gown. There was oil smeared on her hands; she'd probably been working. "You're back late."

"You're out of bed,” he rejoined. "You shouldn't be."

"Shut up. I'm fine. Besides, I needed to fix the short in my leg before the Director comes back." She looked at him for a long moment before the side of her mouth quirked, and she brushed a strand of white-blonde hair out of her face. Her brown eye stared at him, not moving quite right, the reflection of the fire flickering against the fake white, and Theodore felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Usually her eye didn't bother him—he'd had many years to grow used to it, and now it was just part of her, the way her fake legs were and the way she hid the scars from shattered glass under her hair, her bangs hanging heavy against her face—but with automaton blood on his hands, it was making him nervous. Fee tilted her head to the side, and understanding flickered in her face. "Come on. There's whiskey in the cabinet."

There was no point in arguing with her. Theodore followed her in, and as Fee settled at the table again, heaving her leg up into her lap and opening the little compartment so she could reach the gears inside, he pulled the decanter of whiskey out of the cabinet. The alcohol bit his throat as it went down, like a wild creature, and he had to swallow twice to get the burn to ease. It was a miracle, he thought, watching Felicity, that she hadn't asked him about the blood on his clothes yet. Maybe she just didn't care anymore.

For some reason, that disturbed him. He took another swallow of whiskey. "Aren't you going to ask?"

"You'd tell me if it was important," she said, sorting wires and gears. She didn't slow, or look at him at all. As she worked, the sleeve of her dressing gown slipped off her shoulder, and he could see the scar from the bullet, ugly and puckered and red. He flicked his eyes away, but not before the memories churned in his head. A hand brushing his cheek.  _Thank you. Be safe._  Why be safe? What was the point of being safe? No one was safe, not one person. Not really. If bad things were going to happen anyway, it was better to face them and deal with them, not run away and pretend they didn't exist.

He swirled the whiskey in the glass, watching it spiral inside crystal like a whirlpool, dragging him down. He hadn't been sure at first, but he was now. Elizabeth had recognized him. She'd seen him, recognized him somehow.

Why had she been there? Why had  _Petrovsky_  been there? Had he been on assignment? His fingers clenched around the glass. If Petrovsky had been on assignment, that meant that the Zodiac was moving again, and for some reason, he hadn't been told where, when, or why.

Did the Director no longer trust him?

"Have you heard from anyone?" Theodore asked, and Felicity turned to look at him, one eyebrow arching. "Anyone important?

"Not really." She fiddled with one last gear, and yelped in appreciation when something snapped back into place. Without looking at him, she closed the compartment and stood on both legs again, testing her weight on them. "Why? Did you hear something?"

"I don't think so."

Fee studied him for a moment. Her forehead wrinkled. "Theo…"

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." The fire was hot against his back. "Felicity."

"Hm? What is it?"

 _Big green eyes fixed on him, her mouth curling around his name. She'd seen him. She knew. He'd saved her and it had been so automatic, just like breathing, even though one of his comrades was lying on the floor, blood spreading in an ever-widening pool around her feet._ Elizabeth. Elizabeth and Felicity, circling each other like animals, knives and swords at the ready. And he was only twenty-one, but God, he was so _tired_. The papers from the Queen's library crinkled in his pocket. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He straightened, downed the rest of his glass, and set it on the table before crossing the room and kissing the top of her head. "I'm tired. Don't stay up much later."

"I'm not twelve, I can take care of myself." She hesitated. "Theo?"

Theodore paused by the door, looking back at her. "Hm?"

"If something happened, then we weren't told for a reason." She smiled, and for once it was like her old smile, the one she'd had before the accident, wide and childish and carefree. "You know the Director takes care of us, right?"

He tightened his grip on the door frame, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. Then he made himself smile, the one he'd perfected over all these years, and like always, Felicity didn't notice—couldn't notice—that it wasn't a true one. "I know."

He used to know where he stood, he thought, as he wandered down the hall to his room. The door locked automatically behind him as Theo pulled off his coat, flinging it into the corner of the room, and unbuttoned his shirt. He used to know where everything was supposed to go. He used to know how everything was supposed to happen—how Fee would be cured, how their work would change the world, how everything would be different. But things were different now. Things had changed. Things had been changing since the instant Elizabeth Middleford had burst out of the closet and proclaimed she could get her fiancé to halt his investigation.

It hadn't even been her. She'd pushed some of it into motion, but not everything. It wasn't even Phantomhive's fault, not totally, though he'd made things so much worse. Theo went to the armoire and dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, swiping the blood off his face and hands and throat. When had all of it started? He wasn't even sure.

His wet hair slapped at the back of his neck when he straightened. He felt cold, despite the fact that someone had stoked the fire in his room. Probably Lake. Fee's custom automaton had a knack of skittering around unnoticed, the same way her Scarabs did, and her Spiders. All of her toys that the Director took and used and corrupted.

Another hand on his face, this time cool and strange, long-fingered and dangerous.  _You can help me, dear Theo. You_ will  _help me, won't you?_ And he'd looked at Felicity wrapped up in bandages, and because he'd been stupid and confused and so, so young, only fifteen, only a boy, he'd turned back to the Director—he'd been Gabriel then, hadn't he, that was what his mother had called him—and nodded yes. And the Director had leaned forward and pressed his lips to Theodore's head, and it had felt like fire, like he'd been doused in oil and set alight, and when he'd finally opened his eyes again, he'd seen the mark on his chest, right over his heart, and the Director had set his fingers to his lips and smiled.  _You're mine, now, my darling. Always and forever, for the sake of your sister, you will help me. Won't you, love?_

And God help him, he'd said yes. For Felicity, he'd said yes. For his parents and their withering marriage, and for himself, because of his ambition, the curse of his family, the thing that had driven his uncle to ruin and his sister to her wheelchair. His damned ambition.

The mark gleamed at him like tarnished silver threaded through his skin, a brand with no scar, an upside-down cross encircled by curls of Latin. He'd deciphered it a long time ago, spending an afternoon locked in his room with his father's Latin dictionaries.  _A caelo usque ad centrum._   _From the heavens to the center of the earth_.

Theodore stared in the mirror for a moment longer, his bangs dripping into his eyes, before he turned, pulled on another shirt, and settled at his desk to work on translating his paper clues.

* * *

 

She was curled into a chair by the fire when someone knocked on the door. Elizabeth didn't move, though her fingers clenched tighter around the gun in her hands. The flames were flickering like cloth, snapping in the wind, and they cast monsters on the walls. After a very long moment, the door opened. "Elizabeth."

It was Ciel. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the chair, watching the light of the fire play on the inside of her eyelids. She'd left the windows open, trying to get the smell of blood out of the room, but it was as strong as ever. "Ciel. Did you learn anything from the reapers?"

"They gave us what they could, which wasn't much." Ciel's voice was softer than usual, less demanding, and Elizabeth peeked out of one eye to see him settle into the chair opposite hers, gingerly. His hair was still damp from a bath, and his patch was back, not just long bangs. For an instant she thought she caught him watching her, and then he was staring into the fire too, his fingers tight in the fabric of the chair arm. "The man was one of Petrovsky's footmen. He knew very little about anything. His only job was to shoot if things grew too confusing."

"Who was he supposed to shoot?" she asked, in a dull voice. "Me?"

"No," said Ciel, scoffing a bit. "Me. Apparently he picked you to shoot first because you were the one with a gun."

Elizabeth pulled her knees up against her chest and closed her eyes. Somewhere in the house, the clock chimed five. It was still dark outside, and the room was cold from the wind. Out on the street, a carriage rattled by. She could still taste the scent of blood in her mouth, even though it had been hours since her bath. She wondered if Ciel had carried it in with him or if she was just imagining it.

"Elizabeth."

"Caroline Fotheringhay will help if we try to keep Stephen and Nathaniel safe,” she said, without opening her eyes. "She'll tell us what she knows. And Cutter told me that the Director is waiting for us. He wants to meet with us. We need to go to the Radcliffe Camera in Oxford. Wednesday at two." She was speaking without thinking, parroting, passing on the messages. She didn't tell him about Theodore. There was nothing to tell, not yet, not until she knew a little more about it, not until she was convinced she hadn't imagined the whole thing. Not until Stephen woke up. "There's nothing else I know."

"We'll set out at first light, then,” Ciel said, and Elizabeth wondered how exactly he'd be able to manage that with her parents before the Numbness descended again, and she tasted blood. All of the Numbness at once, because she could remember Ciel in her arms and oh, God, she couldn't remember that. Because it couldn't happen again. She couldn't let it happen again. If she let herself acknowledge the truth, then all that would happen would be her getting hurt, and she wasn't sure she would be able to survive it again.

"Go away,” Elizabeth snapped, and kept her eyes squeezed tight shut. "I'm trying to sleep."

"In a chair?"

"The bed's uncomfortable." It had actually been too comfortable, too normal after everything. She hadn't liked it.

Ciel made an irritable noise. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're really are a phenomenally bad liar."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Weren't you the one insisting that we discuss everything?"

 _That was a different time,_  she thought, but she said nothing. Elizabeth clenched her teeth as Ciel turned towards her, his eye glinting, and he  _knew_. She could see it in his face, and for an instant she couldn't breathe.

"Is it always like this?" she asked, and her voice was muffled through her knees. She could feel the words trembling inside her. "When you kill someone. Is it always like this? Ciel."

Damn him, but he had a ready answer for everything, though for some reason he wasn't scathing this time. "It depends on the person. It depends on who kills." There was a rustle; he was shifting anxiously in his chair, as though fighting something. "Elizabeth, you did what you could."

"You don't know what happened."

"It doesn't matter. I know that he was going to kill you. All that happened was you defended yourself."

"Doesn't mean I'm not a murderess." She said, and suddenly her whole stomach shifted and she nearly vomited. Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose, tilted her head back, and breathed, rapidly.  _I. Will. Not. Throw. Up._ "Damn it."

"Elizabeth."

"Just…just go away. Ciel, please. Go away."

"I didn't think you were this weak."

Elizabeth shot up out of her chair, seized the nearest thing she could lay her hands on—a teacup that had gone untouched—and threw it at him. He ducked the cup but hit the tea, and stood there sputtering for a moment while she clenched her hands into fists and said, in a snarling voice that sounded nothing like her: "I am  _not weak_."

"Then quit acting like it's the end of the world. A man is dead. It's your fault. Accept that and  _grow up_ , because you're of no use to anyone when you're like this."

"How  _dare_ you say that to me!"

Ciel studied her for a moment, silent, tea rolling down his face. Then he reached forward and caught her wrist, wrenching her forward. "Come on."

"Ciel—"

"Just come  _on_."

Elizabeth shut up.

Caroline Fotheringhay was asleep in her chair when Ciel pushed the door of the sickroom open. It was much darker in here than it had been before; the candles had been blown out, the fire stoked, casting a low orange gleam over the wall. Stephen was still breathing, slowly and deeply; there was a splash of blood on his cheek that she hadn't noticed before. Ciel pulled her into the room, not towards Caroline, but near the end of the bed, and she nearly pulled her arm out of its socket trying to yank away. "Let me  _go_."

"Shut up,” he said, and using his free hand, forced her fingers to splay and set them against Stephen's wrist.

A pulse. She could feel it thrumming under her fingers. Slow, steady, strong. Living. Blood pumping through his veins. She tried so hard to wrench her wrist out of Ciel's grip, but he just tightened his fingers, watching her, and the tears built up in her throat like acid.  _Living. Alive. Alive._

"He nearly died because of me,” she said.

"He  _risked his life_ to save you,” Ciel corrected.

"He was shot because—"

"His  _mother_ is alive because of you,” Ciel snapped, and Caroline Fotheringhay stirred and shifted and woke, looking at the two of them with big, confused eyes. "They are both alive because you killed Petrovsky.  _You_ are alive because you killed Petrovsky. Paula is alive. Do you understand that? If you hadn't done it, it wouldn't have come out this way. You would probably be dead."

"Ciel—"

"You are  _not_ this stupid, Elizabeth, so get off of your high horse and stop acting like this." At the door, she could see Bard and Sebastian, watching quietly, Sebastian's eyes gleaming. "You may not have done the right thing, but you did what kept you alive, and  _that_ is what matters."

"Why do you care!"

"Because right now you're making things difficult for everyone! You're acting like a child, and we can't afford that right now! Do you understand?"

She stayed quiet, and Ciel shook her, hard. " _Do you understand_?"

" _YES_!" She screamed it, and under her hand, Stephen jumped. She didn't care. " _Yes,_ all right? Yes! Now just  _let me go_!"

He let go of her wrist. She ripped her fingers away from Stephen's arm, and tucked her arms close in against her chest, unable to speak. Ciel said nothing for a very long moment, and then the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, and he turned away, looking at Sebastian. "Pack. We're going to Oxford."

"As you wish, my lord," said Sebastian, and he vanished down the hall. On the bed, Stephen shifted, and Caroline Fotheringhay went very still.

"You're not leaving us here."

"You'll be escorted to the Phantomhive estate and taken care of." Ciel scowled at her. "You're not going to come to any harm. We'll be back by the end of the week."

"By Thursday," Elizabeth corrected, and when he snapped a glare at her she glared right back. "I have an appointment I have to keep on Thursday."

"By Thursday,” Ciel said through gritted teeth—for some reason she thought he was pleased, despite the tenseness in his shoulders—and he turned. "I'm going to sleep. I don't want to be woken until everything is ready."

He clattered back up the stairs. Elizabeth rubbed her wrist absently, and flicked her eyes to Bard, who was smirking for some reason. "Bard? Can you take a message to my parents for me? Tell them I'm working."

"Yes, Miss Lizzy."

"And bring Colleen back with you,” Elizabeth added, and glared at the ceiling. "If she misses this, she'll flay me alive."

"Yes, Miss Lizzy."

"Thank you." She hesitated, and glanced back at Caroline and Stephen. She cut her voice low. "Take care of them, please."

Bard's voice softened, and he touched her shoulder, lightly. "Of course, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth forced herself to smile, ignoring the way her organs were twisting themselves into knots, before heading back upstairs and shutting herself very quietly into her room again. An hour of sleep was better than nothing, and if they were leaving for Oxford as soon as it grew light, then she had very little time to close her eyes.


	28. His Cousin, Handicap

They didn't end up leaving until around one in the afternoon. Despite the screaming of his instincts— _it's coming to a close, we're almost there, we almost have it all, we can destroy them soon—_ exhaustion had crept up on him. On Lizzy, too. When Sebastian roused him at eleven o'clock, as put together as always, Ciel found her dozing in the chair in her room, the bed untouched. She was also wearing his clothes, something he hadn't noticed last night, and somehow it made her look so much younger. A little girl on holiday. It made him nervous, because aside from the one time he'd spotted her riding out on the lawn at the Phantomhive estate, he'd never seen her in anything other than a traditional dress. The pants and loose shirt looked odd on her. She wasn't hiding behind skirts and makeup and an elaborate hairstyle anymore; she was exposed, curled up into the corner of the chair with her head propped on her crossed arms and her bangs falling in front of her face, curling gold. Her bare feet peeped out from the other corner of the chair, very pale, painting something starkly intimate, and he suddenly wanted to reach out and touch her. Make sure she was real.

He settled for watching her for a few minutes instead, ignoring the world, simply sitting with his hands folded in his lap watching her breathe. It was…soothing. It shouldn't have been, but it was. And she looked like Lizzy again, not this fierce and harsh Elizabeth that had been forcing her way into his life in the past few months, but little Lizzy who cried when she was upset and spun like a dervish when she put on a new dress.

Without thinking about it, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. The warmth of her skin was a jolt against his fingers; he couldn't pull back. He trailed his fingers down her cheek for a moment, wonderingly.  _The innocent one_. Even after everything. She was still Lizzy that way, really. She was too innocent for this, and always had been. Even with all her training and everything she'd done, she was still the innocent one. She was still clean.

 _That's why I needed her._ That was why he had always tolerated her, through some instinct he'd barely understood, through a sort of bone-deep ache that he could barely comprehend. She was the one part in his life that was still fresh and clean, the one piece on the chessboard that hadn't been stained with black. And now she was wandering through the murk and the mud and she was smearing herself with it, because of him, and he couldn't work out if it was making her more frightening or more beautiful or both.

_Is it always like this? When you kill someone. Is it always like this? Ciel._

He hadn't had the heart to tell her it would get easier. He didn't want to see her like that again.

She stirred a little bit under his fingers, but she didn't wake up. The door was mostly closed; Sebastian was downstairs, probably cooking. Colleen was probably with him. Elizabeth was asleep. There would be no one to see.

Ciel took his chance. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, lightly, breathing in the smell of her hair and letting her warmth seep into him for a moment, before pulling back. He thought he caught a ghost of a smile on her lips, but when he blinked and looked again it was gone.

Ciel turned and left.

By this time, he thought, Bard and the Fotheringhays would be on the road to the Phantomhive estate. They would be going slowly, Ciel assumed, to keep Stephen Fotheringhay from splitting open like a fish left out in the sun for too long, but they were going, and that was the important thing. Ciel kept his hand on the railing as he clattered down the stairs and pausing on the threshold of the old sickroom. The bed that Stephen had been using had already been stripped and cleaned, the windows thrown open and flowers placed on the bedside table to clear out the scent of blood.  _The bonus of having a butler._

The flowers were violets. He hadn't seen violets in years. He tried to avoid them, generally. They reminded him too much of his old world.

Ciel tugged on the bell cord, listening to the tinkle of music from somewhere deep in the house. It took a little longer than usual for Sebastian to appear—he knew, Ciel realized, what they were going to be talking about as well as Ciel did—but when he did it was with one of his usual Mona Lisa smiles, pristine and well-pressed. "You summoned me, my lord?"

"Yes." Ciel settled in Caroline Fotheringhay's chair, watching Sebastian carefully with his uncovered eye. "Shut the door."

Sebastian obliged. Once it was done, they watched each other quietly, simply waiting. A breeze rustled against the drapes. It was so very strange, Ciel thought, that Sebastian wasn't trying to evade his questions. He was simply waiting, watching, and that finally spurred Ciel into speech. "You've been off lately, Sebastian."

"It is regrettable, my lord, but I'm afraid that you're correct." Sebastian took a breath and bowed. "I beg your pardon for my inadequacy. I shall strive to correct my errors if you will permit me to stay."

"Excellent, but that's not the point." Ciel took a deep breath, disguising it as a yawn, trying not to meet Sebastian's eyes. For some reason there was a strap squeezing his rib cage hard, crushing his guts, thrusting bones into organs and making everything an aching jumble. "You know something about the man we're chasing. You know something about the Director, and you've been deliberately keeping this information from me."

There was the slightest shift in Sebastian's expression, a little change that he couldn't quite define. "I apologize, my lord, for my behavior, but I had a reason."

"Mind explaining it to me?"

Clearly he did. Sebastian was silent for a very long time, standing quite still, staring at the violets as outside the window carriages rattled down the street and flower sellers called out for customers. Ciel drummed his fingers absently against the arm of his chair, not impatiently, just waiting, needing to do something with his hands to offset the low-level tumbling of emotions through the back of his throat. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling. He couldn't tell. Finally, Sebastian shifted his weight a bit, tilting his head to the side, thinking. "It strikes me, my lord, that I have been behaving erratically since the beginning of this case, and for that I apologize."

"Sebastian—"

"I was not aware of it at first,” Sebastian continued, and there was something in his voice that had Ciel clenching his teeth. It was that little hint of condescension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the tone that he hated hearing from  _anyone_ , let alone Sebastian. "I will endeavor to rectify the situation. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord—"

"I will order you," said Ciel, and his voice was shaking from the force of the anger. His whole body felt hot, the blood pounding through his skull, and Sebastian went quiet, watching him carefully. "Don't test me, Sebastian. I don't have the patience for it. Either way, I  _demand_  an explanation, and we're not leaving this room until you give me one."

Silence. Sudden. Echoing. It swelled up and crashed over him like a waterfall, stabbing him, slicing at his flesh. Ciel waited, careful to keep his face blank, feeling messy and unkempt and betrayed— _I didn't want to have to order you—_ and Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed, and it sounded like the way leaves fell off of trees and how snow hit earth after it fell. Then his eyes opened again, and there was a gleam of red behind the darkness.

"What is it you would like me to say, my lord?"

"Explain yourself." Ciel clenched one hand into a fist. "Explain everything you know, everything you remember. Just…explain."

Sebastian's mouth quirked in a bitter smile as he lifted a hand, pressed it to a heart, and bowed.

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

 

The queen had settled in one of the drawing rooms to answer letters when she summoned them, and Phipps made sure Grey was the one to lead the way up the servant's stair in case the other butler attempted to escape. The illustrious Earl Grey was very, very good at his job, but despite being elevated to his new status for his work and his loyalty, he was also very, very bad at speaking to the queen, and if one didn't keep an eye on him, he was more likely to skip official reports than anything else. It was one of the hazards of working with the man; one became both partner and babysitter. No one else had been willing to do it, simply because they didn't have the time. Phipps had long since acclimated.

"She's just going to bellow about something or other," said Grey, as they turned up to the third floor and started down the hall. A nearby maid squeaked and curtsied as they passed, and Phipps inclined his head in her direction without looking at her. "What's the damn point? I was asleep."

"Regardless."

"Oh, shove it, Phipps." Grey scowled in his direction before rapping on the door once and then yanking it open without waiting for an answer, not bothering to force a smile on his face. "What is it you want?"

"That's polite, my lord Grey,” John Brown said, in his usual dry, empty voice, and Grey sneered at him.

"Shut up, gardener."

"Your attitude is unappreciated, my lord." The queen didn't lift her head, focused on her letters, her pen scratching like a cat against the page. She had elegant handwriting. Phipps bowed, and when Grey didn't move, he seized the other man by his jacket collar and yanked him down as well. "As badly as your investigation is going, I didn't think it would make you this rude."

"I apologize, your majesty," said Phipps, before Grey could speak. He stepped on the other man's foot and dug his heel in. "You summoned us?"

"Ah, yes." Victoria deliberately kept her back to them, finishing her sentence and signing with a flourish before turning. Grey was steadily getting shiftier and shiftier, like a child forced to sit still in church, and Phipps wondered just how long it would take before he exploded. "I wanted to inquire as to the status of the Zodiac affair."

"Pardon me, your majesty, but isn't that the Watchdog's case?"

"The majority of it is, yes, but remember, I did give the Americans to you as a project." Her lips pursed a bit. "Besides, the case is taking much longer than we expected."

 _Because of the Watchdog or because of your insistence on preserving the opium trade into Britain?_  Phipps kept his mouth shut. As the lesser son of one of the many, many footmen in the palace, he didn't exactly have the station to talk back to the queen even if he had wanted to. The fact remained, however, that if the queen had banned opium when it had first started to flood the country, rather than using it to manipulate the Oriental countries into remaining loyal to England, the Zodiac would have had a much more difficult time getting their project off the ground. Because they'd managed to sink their claws so deeply into the opium trade, however, they had any number of places to go to ground in, which would make the Watchdog's job that much more difficult.

Grey sighed, and scratched the back of his head. "We've made contact with Parker. He was actually quite willing to work with us, as long as we gave him something in return."

"The papers."

"Yes, your majesty, the papers."

"And you managed to get him to give you the bug?"

"The Scarab? Yes. We have some gentlemen in the Home Office studying it right now. It seems to be a fairly complicated device, but they assure me they can duplicate it and mass produce it upon your order. If it turns out they cannot, we can always pull the boy's sister into production. She seems to be the one who crafts their…smaller enterprises."

John Brown shifted behind the queen's desk, his hands clenching in his coat pockets, but other than that he made no objection. The queen's eyes snapped to him for a moment before she stood and lifted her hand to Grey's cheek, smiling at him. "You've done quite well, my boy."

Grey closed his eyes and bowed again, and Phipps let out a short breath that he couldn't quite disguise. "Thank you, your majesty."

"And you, Mr. Phipps. How is your part of the investigation going?"

"As well as can be expected, your majesty. Miss Parker has been slightly more difficult to locate than her brother, but I believe I've discovered the address of their hiding place. I plan to visit tomorrow."

"Excellent." Her hand, when she patted Phipps' cheek, was cool and dry and wrinkled as a walnut. Her eyes crinkled up a bit in a smile. "Well done, gentlemen. Now I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me; I have a meeting to attend."

They all bowed. Phipps waited for the door to shut before straightening, only to catch Grey smirking at him like a fool. "You plan to  _visit_  her, do you?"

"It's simpler than spending hours in the house opposite trying to peek into windows,” Phipps said dryly, ignoring Grey's chuckling. He glanced at Brown. "What else do we have to do?"

Brown lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "The original mission objective remains the same. Attempt to bring the Parker siblings into the employ of the crown. If they resist, remove them from the equation." He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and clicked it open. Phipps caught a glimpse of the face, and his eyes narrowed. It was at the wrong time, exactly three hours and twenty-one minutes ahead. Brown caught him looking, and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a small smile. "It's a personal preference, Mr. Phipps. Don't concern yourself with it."

Grey rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, the  _dramatics_. Come on, Phipps."

"Also, we expect a full mission report by the end of next week."

Grey groaned and went to protest, but Phipps nodded, seized his partner's arm, and dragged him back down the staircase. There was no point in letting Grey and Brown at each other's throats, not after the last time.

It was only after he'd changed and ventured out into the heart of London to scope out the house that he wondered what else the acquisition of the Scarab—and the Parkers'—would lead to.

* * *

 

It had been Uncle Vincent who had bought the house in Oxford. It was smaller than the typical Phantomhive property, only a flat, hidden in between two of the colleges and four blocks away from the Radcliffe Camera. The only reason she knew that was because when Sebastian escorted her to the smaller of the two bedrooms and she opened the cabinet to put her clothes away, she was hit by a wave of Aunt Rachel's perfume, and she had to sit down on the end of the bed and stare at it for five whole minutes before she had enough courage to push some of the old dresses aside and add her own to the mix. It felt like she was usurping something, breaking into a secret; when she pulled out one of the old dresses, the mixture of dust and violets made her sneeze violently. It was a red dress that looked like one of Aunt Anne's, but it was cut for a smaller frame, a more slender waist. For some reason she had a feeling it would fit her.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and put the dress back before changing into something of her own.

Ciel was in the library, as per usual. When she knocked, he didn't bother looking up from his book, just lifted his hand and said, "If you haven't heard anything, keep searching. We came here early for a reason."

"Thank you for the permission, Ciel, but I'd rather not if it's all the same to you."

He glanced at her then, his eye shadowed, fingers clenching tight around the cover of his book. Then he relaxed. "Elizabeth."

"I found some of Aunt Rachel's things upstairs." Better to get it over with now. She'd much rather just ask now than come in later that night and find them whisked away without explanation. "I'd like to keep them, if…if you don't mind. I know that you might want them."

Ciel looked at her for a long moment before snorting. He turned back to his book. "What would I do with them?"

"They were your mother's."

"Key word being 'were.' Take them if you want them." He gave her a slanting look. "I thought you'd given up your…obsession with pretty things, cousin."

Elizabeth put her shoulders back and scowled. "I'd rather take them in than let them go into the dustbin. Besides, there's nothing wrong with liking pretty things, Ciel."

He grunted. "Fine. Where's Colleen?"

"In her room. I think she's resting, but she might be reading letters or something, I'm not sure. She made some friends in Society, it seems." Elizabeth hesitated before taking the chair opposite his, tucking her feet under her. "Have you…heard anything new? About the Zodiac?"

"Nothing of importance." He turned the page. "We don't know where they are yet and until we do, there's no use in planning a preemptive strike."

She nodded. "What about the Camera?"

"We'll get there early on Wednesday, of course."

"We?"

"Cutter told you about it personally, so they'll expect you. Colleen might prove useful as a distraction, as the Director seems to like her. And myself and Sebastian, obviously." He kept his eye fixed on the center of his page, not moving up or down, simply looking. The cover of the book read  _Paradise Lost_. "Did you expect something different?"

She had, a bit. But she shook her head. "Not particularly."

Ciel looked up then, and said, "Aunt Frances is right. You are a bad liar."

Her ears went warm. Elizabeth ignored it. She rubbed the empty spot on her finger where the engagement ring had rested, and said, "Cutter didn't have to tell me, so it stands to reason that the Director told him to. Which means the Director either wants to talk to us or kill us or both."

"That is what we assumed, yes."

We, as in  _Sebastian and I,_  as in the team of the Queen's Watchdog. Elizabeth bit her tongue rather than comment. "What about the other people in the Camera?"

"School's out, I believe, but if it turns out there are students inside we can always usher them out the side door. One would assume that the Director chose such a public location in order to hide in plain sight; if he wanted to attack us directly he wouldn't do it inside one of the Oxford University libraries." Ciel closed his book and set it on the table, drumming his fingers together, focusing on the fireplace. "Which also could lead to a potential problem in that he could try to take one or two of the students hostage to ensure his own escape. It doesn't seem to be a part of his character to do so, but we've already clarified that the man is mad. It's difficult to predict what exactly he might do."

Ciel had been thinking this out. Elizabeth leaned forward and snitched the book off the table, opening it to a random page. There was a print of a painting of the archangel Michael on one page, and for some reason the sight of it made her feel uneasy. "So what, even if it's a trap we're going to walk right into it?"

"That's strategy."

"That's madness," she rejoined, but she didn't put any heat into it. They were at the point where madness was becoming their only option. When she glanced down at  _Paradise Lost_ again, a line caught her eye.  _Awake, arise, or be forever fall'n_. "But we have few other options."

Ciel looked at her curiously, and Elizabeth closed the book, holding it close against her chest. For some reason it helped. "We don't have a choice. I want this done, Ciel. I want it over with. I want the Zodiac brought to justice, and I want the automata put out of their misery."

"How do you know they're miserable? They no longer have souls, Elizabeth. They feel nothing."

"Would you want to live such a life?"

His eye flickered, and he said nothing for a moment. Then, finally, he stood, and went to the bookshelves, tracing his fingers over the spines. Elizabeth fought the urge to stand too. Suddenly her stomach clenched. She'd been spending more and more time with Ciel lately, but until now she hadn't quite realized how fast her heart was beating.

 _You are_ not _this stupid._

_I'm…glad you're awake._

Elizabeth took a breath, and stood. If she didn't leave, right now, she was going to do something silly and idiotic and suicidal like reach out and touch him, and she wasn't sure she could handle that. "I'm going to get Colleen and wander around a little. I want to get a look at the Camera." She picked up the copy of  _Paradise Lost_ and offered it to him, wordlessly.

Ciel's mouth quirked, and he shook his head. "Keep it. You've been looking for something to read."

Elizabeth blinked. She had been, but of all people, Ciel wouldn't have been the one she would have picked to notice it,  _especially_  considering she didn't generally read. She usually didn't have the patience. All she wanted right now, though, was to escape; she wanted out, she wanted it done, but they would have to wait for three terrifying days for that to happen, and inhaling a book would give her a minor distraction. "Oh. …Thank you."

He lifted a hand absently and turned to leave. He was on the threshold when she said it again, her voice softer, almost inaudible. "Thank you, Ciel."

Ciel turned back to look at her, and for a moment he was completely bare to her, raw and quiet and petrified. She rather thought she might have been bare too, because her throat was closed up and her eyes were burning with tears and she felt about thirteen again, when she'd reached out to him only to have her hand slapped away. Then he left the room, and she dropped down into her chair again with a  _thump_  that made her teeth rattle.

_What was that?_

She wasn't entirely sure. She didn't think she'd ever seen the new Ciel with that expression before—one that he might have worn before his parents had been killed, before that month when he'd vanished, the one he'd never explained. But not now. She wasn't sure what it meant, either, for either of them. The old Lizzy would have run to him then and flung her arms around him in tears; she wasn't sure she would be able to do that anymore, be as spontaneous and joyful as she had been.

But the instinct had been there, and maybe that meant the old her hadn't been pushed as far away as she thought she had.

_Make a decision and stick to it._

She'd decided to help Ciel, at least to the end of this case. She would do that. Until then she could ignore everything else. She would settle for loving him without voicing it, moving on if she could—even with her handicaps as a English maiden who killed and fenced and whatever it was else she did—and if she couldn't, taking Paula and Michael and maybe Colleen and leaving it all behind her.

 _Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs._   _Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods. Love that is not madness is not love_.  _The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or, rather, loved in spite of ourselves. Don't you agree?_

Lau. Demons. Elizabeth looked down at the book in her arms, struggling to think. She'd said she was ready to learn about demons, but that had been before she'd killed Petrovsky. She wasn't sure now.

Elizabeth opened the book to the title page, and her breath caught in her throat.

_To Vincent, remember:_

_Our state cannot be severed; we are one,  
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself._

_With all my love._

— _R_

* * *

 

There were too many memories in this house.

Ciel shut the door of his room quietly behind him, leaned against it, and let out a breath. It was difficult to even take in air here. He remembered once when he had been quite small, and his father had had a meeting in Oxford with one of the dons here; he'd brought Ciel and Rachel along with him, and when the meeting had been over they'd gone to a nearby park. It had been one of the last few idyllic days before everything had happened, and it had taken him a very long time to remember all of it. The color of his mother's dress in the sunlight. Pipe smoke and smiles. The feel of the grass against his cheek.

Even being in this room, the guest room, as far away as possible from the master bedroom, was constricting. It was almost physically painful. Even the wallpaper had old secrets.

It was one of the few Phantomhive properties that he hadn't ordered to be dismantled or redecorated, and he wondered whether or not it had been because he had forgotten about it or because he had wanted to keep it this way, dusty and familiar and loved.

Vincent had gone to Oxford, Ciel remembered, like many of the other Phantomhive boys had. Ciel himself would be going, he assumed, eventually. It was a tradition, after all. But that would be in a few years' time, and to be honest, he wasn't even sure if he would survive that long anymore. When he found his parents' murderer and destroyed them, then Sebastian would take his soul, and there was nothing else to it. Ciel Phantomhive would be gone. Perhaps his body would remain living, unmoving, simply empty, staring blankly into nothing. He could see himself afterwards, Sebastian vanished back into hell or purgatory or wherever it was he had come from, maybe Bard or Maylene or Finny rolling him around the Phantomhive property in a wheelchair.

For an instant he saw Elizabeth with her fingers wrapped tight around the handles, smiling and crying at once, and he put a hand up to his eyes and gritted his teeth. Despite everything, he couldn't get her out of his head, and it was absolutely infuriating because he  _didn't have time for this_. Not after the manorhouse, not after the theatre, and certainly not after what Sebastian had told him, in his smooth dark voice.

_I have known the Director for a very long time._

He kicked the wall, angrily, and then sank onto the end of the bed and put his face in his hands, digging his nails into his hairline until he felt the raw sting of pain and a bead of blood welling up around one nail.

_Saying that he is a creature of my own creation would not be inaccurate, though he is altogether much older than I am and, despite his current form, probably just as powerful, if not more so._

There was nothing for it now. They would have to kill the Director. How exactly they were going to be able to do that was debatable, but they were going to have to kill him. It. Whatever. Ciel wiped his finger clean of blood before going to the window, pushing it open and settling on the edge. He could see the Radcliffe Camera, its powerful arches and high windows, and for some reason it was making him nervous.

_It is not too far off to say that he is the reason I have been acting strangely, and for my notable failures during the past few months._

Kill the Director. Hand the rest of the Zodiac over to the queen. Then get out of the whole mess. Go back to his hunt for his parents' murderers until the next job. Dealing with Elizabeth…he wasn't sure if he would be dealing with Elizabeth anymore, after this job. She'd said it herself.  _I want this done, Ciel. I want it over with._  Once this investigation was completed, he doubted he would see her again for a very long time.

Somehow he couldn't imagine not seeing her again. It must have been the house pressing in on him, crushing him with memory, but the idea of not seeing her ever again stung, a cut he couldn't reach or heal.

_There's an instinct that emerges at the appearance of an angel, even if he has fallen, that is automatic and unstoppable._

An angel.

_I apologize for not informing you before, and beg your forgiveness for my behavior, my lord._

_I promise I will improve in future._

Fallen angel.

Ciel knocked his head against the window frame, lightly, and closed his eyes.

_The Director._

_The head of the Zodiac._

_The fallen angel, Ramiel._


	29. His Cousin, Solitaire

She wasn't sure if it was because she was stuck inside with Black, because of the heavy air in the flat, or the tension between Elizabeth and His Nibs Phantomhive, but by the time Tuesday night rolled around Colleen was just about ready to stab someone in the face if it meant she could get a breath of fresh air.

It wasn't as though they were forbidding her from leaving the house. At least, no one had said anything like that to her  _face_. It was just that whenever she went to a window or a door one of them glared at her. She understood why in her head—the Director had liked her for some God-blasted reason, and they wanted to keep her presence a secret until they at least knew that they would be able to control the interaction (good  _lord_ she was starting to sound like His Nibs)—but that didn't change the fact that she had. To. Get. Out. Of. The. House.

Colleen glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure no one would see, and then pushed the window open as far as she could, resting her cheek against the frame and dragging her nails along the peeling wallpaper under the sill. She'd heard about Oxford even in the abbey.  _Everybody_  loved Oxford, or at least pretended they did so the posh nancies who came around didn't smack them upside the head. But they never talked about _Oxford_ , they talked about the fancy colleges. Not  _Oxford_. She'd found so many little alleys that demanded investigating when she'd gone out walking on the Saturday that she'd been inching to scarper off and leave the nobles to their lordly doings. She would have, if she'd gone walking with anyone but Elizabeth Middleford.

Elizabeth had promised. The only reason Colleen was still around was because of that promise, and now she wasn't even sure if the Great Lady Tosspot remembered it anymore. She dug her fingernails into the wood and pretended not to care. What the lords and ladies did didn't matter, never had, it never changed anything. She was here for Cutter, only for Cutter, because Cutter had been the one to destroy Mollie. Once Mollie was avenged, Colleen could vanish again, and she doubted either of them would even realize she had disappeared into the winding streets.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" The voice echoed up from the street, loud and jovial and strangely accented, and when Colleen straightened she had to squint in order to see through the flickering gaslight. "By yourself, love?"

It was the bloke from the basement. Dungeon. Whatever it'd been. The one with funny hair and specs. He grinned up at her, his eyes eerie in the dark. "Ooo, no, you're not. The butler's in there with you, isn't he?"

"Not  _with_ me,” she said. This seemed important. "He's not  _with_  me. He's with the snobs."

"Still. He doesn't like me much." He shrugged. Then he pasted his smile back on, and bowed extravagantly at the waist. "Well, I'd best be off. I have an appointment."

"Wait." Colleen glanced over her shoulder again, quickly. In the street, Ronald Knox looked confused, pushed off-guard for the first time. "Hold on. I have questions for you."

"I'm really not supposed to talk to you, love, sorry."

"Quit callin' me that and hold on. I'll be down in a minute."

Ronald sniffed, but he settled by a lamppost and checked his fingernails. It didn't do much good, considering he was wearing gloves. Colleen scowled at him.

"Bloody nancy."

"I heard that, you know. If you're not down in one minute, I'm leaving, do you hear?"

Colleen slammed the window and left the room.

It was easier to leave the flat than she'd thought it would be. Black—Sebastian was cooking. Or something. She wasn't sure what it was he did this time of night. Butler-ish things. She made sure to skip the creaky floorboards and shut the door as quietly as possible behind her, taking the steps down to the first floor two at a time. Ronald Knox had just turned a corner into an alleyway when she flew out into the street, and Colleen made sure to wait until a few half-drunken students stumbled down the road before following him in, clinging tightly to the knife she always had tucked in her hidden skirt pocket.

Knox was leaning against the grimy wall, studying the lines on his hands. When she stopped in front of him, he glanced up, and that ridiculous grin was back on his face. "Really? Came down to play, Juliet?"

"Not with you." She scowled. "M'name's Colleen."

"Right in a man's pride. Don't pull your punches, do you?" He pouted a bit, and Colleen clenched her teeth. She'd never seen a man better able to pout than Jim, and Jim'd died a few years back after rising too high and getting shot by his mistress's husband.  _Trials of a money-grubbing whore._

"You never answered me before," said Knox, and she snapped back in reality just in time to realize that he was reaching out , tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She kept herself very still.  _Do. Not. React._  If she didn't react, men typically lost interest. "What's a spark like you doing in a stuffy old place like this anyway?"

"None of your business,” she snapped. " _You're_  the one who should be answerin' questions, curse you."

"Ooo, cursing. I like cursing." He smiled again, and like an idiot, Colleen felt her ears go hot. She didn't like it. She didn't like  _men_ , generally, except for maybe Elizabeth's brother and the dark-skinned Indian prince who'd been staying in the Middleford manor. Neither of them ever treated her like anything more than her—not a lady, not a whore, not as some upstart, but just Colleen. It had been…nice, she supposed. She still wasn't used to it. "I'm not working, if you must know. I'm here on quite another mission."

"What?"

She had to ask. Knox shrugged a bit, lightly as a bird, but when he looked at her his eyes were sharp and strange and cruel. "Come to a party with me?"

"No." It was automatic, instant, pushed out of her by something screaming in her chest, a warning.  _Danger danger danger_. Knox's smile shrank a bit, softened, and again he reached out, but rather than touching her face, he stopped, and took her hand instead. Heat spiraled through the glove, burned against her palm.

"Good choice, spark."

"M'name's not Spark, either." Her face was warm now. Damn it. "It's Colleen."

"Colleen the spark." His expression darkened, and his fingers tightened around hers. "You're too bright, spark. The world likes to strangle the bright ones. Your feelings are too strong. They'll choke you and you won't even realize it until you're floating."

There was nothing she could really say to that. Knox let go of her hand, and cocked his head to the side, sighing, back to his little game of levity. He peeped out at her from over the tops of his spectacles. "That's a bit dreary for a night like tonight, don't you think? I have my party to go to; they'll be mad if I show up  _too_ late. You can still tag along if you like."

"Piss off."

Knox chuckled. "See? Spark. Fire. Lightning. No  _wonder_  the freak likes you." He gave her a funny look, then, one she couldn't quite figure out. Colleen had just opened her mouth to respond when he bent down and pressed his lips to her cheek. It was barely a kiss, more a teasing brush against her skin, but it left a smear of warmth behind that didn't fade, making the rest of her body feel quite cold. She barely realized what was happening until it was over.

Ronald Knox pulled back and smirked. "See you around, love."

Her voice trembled a bit. "Call me love again and I'll break your fecking fingers."

"You can try."

" _D'anam don diabhal_!"

"Back at you, love."

She swore under her breath and lashed out, not with her knife, but with her hands. She could use her knife later if it came down to it. Knox ducked, and in a sudden rush of movement, he was on the other side of the alley. Then he jumped up, rebounded off the wall of the house, and vanished over the rooftops, his laugh spiraling away into the twilight air.

Colleen stood there, panting, thinking, for a very long time.

* * *

 

Elizabeth had been staring at the same spot on the page for the past half an hour by the time Ciel went stiff in his chair and said, in a very low voice, "He's here."

She felt cold. They'd been sitting in the Radcliffe Camera since about ten in the morning, almost four hours ago now, and she hadn't budged from her spot once. Her legs had gone numb from the stress of it a very long time ago. On the other side of the room, Colleen looked up at them from her book—she wasn't reading either, though more out of difficulty than willingness—and narrowed her eyes.

Sebastian was upstairs. Elizabeth could see him out of the corner of her eye, turning pages absently without looking up. He was the only one of them still keeping cover, and somehow he seemed to blend into the shadows of the shelves without even trying. His glasses glinted in the reflection off the window.

It had been Sebastian who had come in last. Colleen, who after makeup and a careful hairstyle looked frighteningly like one of the few female secretaries or university research assistants, had gone in just before him, at about twelve-thirty. Ciel and Elizabeth had been there the longest, and if she didn't stand up soon, she was going to scream. The Director was a shadow at the front of the room, going over the literature shelves, his fingers traipsing down the spines.

"He knows we're here,” Ciel said, without looking up from his newspaper. At a nearby table, one of the masochistic summer students lifted his head and hissed at them. Ciel stared at him for a moment, saying nothing, and it was the student who looked away first, flushing to the tips of his ears. He collected his books and bolted down a nearby corridor. "He's waiting to see what we do."

She didn't like his tone. It was inquisitive, mildly intrigued, as though he was talking about a stray dog rather than a psychotic murderer. Elizabeth clenched her hands.

_The Director's a secret, and one that we keep dear. It's thanks to the Director that we can do most of our work in the first place after all, so what the Director wants, the Director gets._

Over a hundred lives so the Director could have his automata, over a hundred lives and all of that pain and for what? None of them was even sure of that much. The only thing that they  _did_  know, all of them, all of the people who had been affected by this man, was that he had to die, and that was simple.

They couldn't kill him yet, though. Elizabeth fingered the hilt of her rapier parasol, absently. She felt safer with it in her hand.

 _Clarissa_.

Stephen's voice echoed in her head. Clarissa. She'd never met a Clarissa. Never even heard of a Clarissa. The note that Caroline Fotheringhay had left for them, though, before Bard had taken her to the Phantomhive Manor, had explained that.

_There was a girl who worked for my husband as a sort of secretary. She was young and pretty; I believe she and Stephen may have been involved, though I wasn't sure at the time. She was an orphan. Towards the beginning of my renewed relationship with Damian, she vanished. I'm not entirely sure if that has anything to do with this, but anything may be relevant, so I thought I should include it._

There had been a photograph included. Clarissa had been one of the clockwork women who had acted as servants in Cutter's manorhouse, a pretty thing with a pert nose and black hair and slightly Asiatic eyes. She couldn't remember what had happened to her, whether or not she'd been killed. She was dead, though, when she thought about it. Clarissa was dead already. Even with her body still walking, her human heart had stopped beating a long time ago.

Elizabeth squeezed the handle of her parasol until her fingers ached.

"Elizabeth." Ciel. She looked up at him, biting the inside of her cheek until she felt the tears vanish from behind her eyes. "I need to know you're focused."

She took a deep breath. The clock just chimed two as the Director settled in one of the chairs near the door, with his back facing the wall. He could see them all, she was certain of it, though his eyes were fixed on his copy of  _Great Expectations._  She could see a pistol in Ciel's pocket. Finally, she relaxed. "I'm all right."

Ciel waited, quite still, watching her. They were even, she realized. Their heads were even, and their eyes were finally on the same level. If she stood, his shoulders would be even with hers. He probably hadn't noticed. She cleared her throat, and said it again. "I'm all right."

He nodded, folded his newspaper, and cast it aside on the table. On the other side of the room, Colleen stood and vanished into the stacks, heading to do her part for the plan. "Then we should go before he decides to run off."

Elizabeth hesitated just once before tucking her hand into the crook of Ciel's elbow, ignoring the way her pulse stuttered. They had work to do. Besides, there was no point in getting worked up over him all over again. Not when the Numbness still crouched like a tiger, waiting for her to slip up and fall. "Right."

She realized it halfway across the room. This was the first time she'd seen the Director since she'd been captured in Cutter's manorhouse. The memories from that night had been fogged up for the longest time, torn with blood and darkness; the blow to her head hadn't helped at all. For an instant, she had a flash—the Director leaning forward, pinching her jaw between his fingers, turning her face this way and that.  _Interesting. It's faint, but…_  Her meeting with him, while Snake had been crouched behind the desk and down below, Ciel and Sebastian had gone through killing automata left and right. The slap of the truth as it struck her in the heart.  _You're mad enough yourself, a pretty young woman like you working with the Queen's Watchdog, don't you think? Do you think someone like you could be capable of working with the devil?_

 _Shut up_ , she told her brain sternly, and tightened her grip on Ciel's wrist, hard enough for him to flick a glance at her out of the corner of his eye in surprise.  _Shut up and focus_.

The Director lifted his head as they approached, his mouth creasing in a thin line, his bronze eyes crinkling up into a faux smile. He rested his book on his lap. The pages fluttered in a rush of air from the door. "Oh, my dears. You've come. I didn't think you would."

Elizabeth's mouth was bone dry. She licked her lips, glanced at Ciel, and then said, "You invited us, didn't you?"

"That I did." His smile deepened. The Director stood, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips, and Elizabeth had never been more glad of her gloves in her life. Even through cloth the touch felt like death. "Come. Sit. The students won't mind if we talk for a few minutes, don't you think?" His eyes snapped to Ciel. "Where's your demon, darling boy?"

"Around." Ciel sat down first, on the couch that was across from the Director's chair. Elizabeth settled beside him, keeping her mouth tight shut. "He didn't particularly want to see you."

"I was looking forward to seeing him so dreadfully much." The Director closed his eyes and sighed, lightly. "Ah, well. This will do, I suppose. Cutter is very angry with you, dear, for your bullet."

"I should have killed him,” Elizabeth said, and next to her Ciel's hand stiffened on the pillow. "I could have. I nearly did."

"Yes, you should have,” the Director agreed mildly, and Elizabeth blinked in surprise. "Oh, don't look like that. I really wouldn't have cared whether or not he died, to be honest, and I might have even said thank you. I'd rather not be working with his sort. There's only so much I can do on my own, though, with these hands of mine." He lifted one, and Elizabeth watched as his fingers shook, thin branches of a tree beset by wind. "It's a miracle I've kept my hold on movement for this long. It's so very difficult, you understand, to  _breathe_  here."

"So that's why you take the souls," Ciel said, and Elizabeth bit her tongue rather than interrupt. It was a process with Ciel, trying to extract every bit of information she could while he was trying to keep every scrap of it for himself. She wasn't sure, anymore, if it was out of a misplaced desire to keep her out of it or because he was petrified of losing control over his life. Because if he told her  _everything_ , then what would he have left to hold on to? "In order to keep yourself healthy."

"Very good, little Phantomhive." The Director sat back in his chair, curling his shaking hands around the arms, and cocked his head lightly to the side. "Though considering your assistant I'm not surprised."

"I figured it out myself, actually," said Ciel, and there was a bit of an edge to his words. "What about the automata?"

"That was Parker's idea."

"Theodore's?"

"No, Augustus. His dear departed father. Though he died before he could manage to even draw up the plans." The Director moved, suddenly, leaning forward, and his fingers brushed over Ciel's cheek, just under the eye patch. "Why keep it hidden, darling? Am I to assume you still haven't told your dear little cousin  _anything_  about what happened to you?"

Ciel remained perfectly still. His face went almost dead, an expression she hadn't since the day he'd reappeared. She'd seen nothing in him then. No heart, no life, no soul. "That, my lord, is my business and mine alone. I speak of it to no one. Least of all a creature like you."

The Director stayed frozen for a moment, half out of his chair, his fingers still brushing Ciel's cheek. She thought she saw little dark patches growing inside Ciel's skin, like bruises, only grayer. Then the Director sat back in his chair, and the marks faded away, as though they'd never been. "I see why he contracted with you, now. Such a surprisingly fearsome little soul you have, Phantomhive."

Ciel said nothing, but his hand flicked up to the eye patch and Elizabeth wondered just precisely how long he was going to try and pretend that she'd never heard any of this. Just like in the manorhouse.  _So_ you're  _the boy with the contract. I was wondering when I would meet you._ Ciel's face, carved of stark panic, as the Director smiled at him and said,  _Oh, don't play dumb, darling. You're among friends here. You can tell the whole truth for once._

"And you," said the Director, and she realized with a start that he'd fixed his eyes on her now. "You're a surprise, darling. Are you actually as mad as you look, or are you just a masochist to be staying with this boy after everything? Don't lie," he said, when Elizabeth opened her mouth, "I can see your soul, dear one, and it's just starting to glow again after all of the tears. You stay near the Phantomhives much longer, you'll mangle it beyond repair."

"You're mad," she said, and the Director smiled.

"By your standards, not nearly."

That stung. She struggled to speak. "It's none of your business what I do or who I spend time with. I'll thank you to keep your fingers out of my life."

"You're the one shooting my emissaries."

 _What is he doing?_  Is this all that he had wanted to do, meeting with them? Analyze them? Elizabeth took a breath. "What do you want, Director?"

"Right to the point. Is that a Middleford trait or a Phantomhive one? Your father seems to be much more subtle than you, my dear."

Panic seized her by the throat and throttled her heart. Papa. Mama. Edward. If he touched any of them…" _You stay away from my father._ "

"Oh, calm down. Your family doesn't interest me, darling. Just you." He shifted a bit in his chair, crossing his legs at the knee. "You and your devotion to a boy who destroyed you."

Ciel shifted, uncomfortably. "That's not the point of this meeting, Director, so if we could refocus—"

"I'm not going to talk to you any longer, darling, so if you could shoo that would be wonderful." The Director waved one hand in dismissal. "You I understand. Orphaned, vengeful, angry, determined to fulfill the requirements of your inheritance. You're as corrupt as the creature whose power you depend on, in your own sweet way, and as delicious it would be to take your soul, I'm afraid I have higher standards than that. But this one intrigues me." His eyes snapped to Ciel. "This one and the whore. Call her down if you would, darling, I want to talk to the two of them alone."

The corner of Ciel's mouth lifted. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I obey no one, Ramiel, least of all you."

The room went cold. The Director didn't react, not particularly but something in his eyes changed; they went strangely brighter, gleaming like sun-streaked gold. "You don't know who you're playing with, boy, to use that name."

"I know you're one of the Fallen Ones," Ciel said, and the air began to crackle. In their glass cases, the gaslights flickered. "I know that you're taking the souls of the people Cutter and the others kidnap, and you're keeping them in these." He pulled a small metallic thing out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of them. It looked like a silver sphere, sliced in two, and for an instant it sparked with energy before going dull and normal again. "I know that it was Sebastian who made you fall, though he was unclear as to how. I know you've been with the Parkers for two generations now. And I know that you can't be killed in your true form, though right now you're as vulnerable as any of us. So, Director." Ciel leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, and cupped his chin in one hand, waiting. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk business."

"I'd rather not," said the Director, and snapped his fingers.

It felt as though a blanket made of icicles draped itself over her. On the wall, the gaslights froze. The clock stopped ticking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw things begin to go gray, though her skirt stayed as vibrant blue as ever. Elizabeth shot to her feet, drawing the rapier from its sheath in her parasol, and flicked the tip up to the Director's throat. "What did you do?"

The Director smiled. She leaned forward, pressing the metal into his skin. "What did you  _do_?"

"Nothing dangerous, dear. We're just in a bubble, if you ignore the terminology. I'm not going to hurt you," he added, as though this mattered. "I just wanted to talk to you without your little cousin pushing into things."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Regardless." He moved, and somehow he'd seized her sword and wrenched it out of her hands before she could blink, holding the sharp blade in his bare palm. He threw it aside, and the metal clattered against the floor with a strange echoing sound, like shattering crockery. "Better. Really, darling, you don't have to be so violent all the time. No wonder none of the other girls like you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what do you  _think_  they whisper behind your back? You really don't have any friends, dear, don't pretend that it's not true. Even the whore is only using you to get her hands on Cutter. And you know that." He reached forward, tapping under her chin, lightly. "Don't you?"

"What do you want, Director?"

"Nothing, right now." He tilted his head, just slightly, to the side. "Only to talk. Will you?"

Elizabeth said nothing for a very long time. She just stared at him. She probably should have expected something like this, after the  _Campania_. If the dead could walk again, and rip and tear and eat; if Snake could speak to his creatures and Sebastian could move faster than the eye could track, then why couldn't there be men who could control how time flowed in the universe? What had Ciel called him?  _Ramiel_. Another thing he'd kept from her, though maybe out of worry that she wouldn't believe him more than trying to keep things to himself.  _Ramiel._  An angel of God. A fallen angel.

"What do you want to say?" she asked, but what she thought was,  _How can we beat you if you can do things like this?_

The Director almost sighed. She wondered if he'd been holding his breath. If he breathed at all. He smiled. "Theodore is in love with you, you know."

It was the last thing she had ever expected him to say. Elizabeth groped for the back of the chair and found Ciel's shoulder instead; she dug her nails in to keep herself upright. The Director continued, as though she hadn't reacted at all. "He thinks he's hiding it from me, but it's quite difficult considering. Do you know, when I offered to help heal his sister, I didn't think he would ever become as loyal as he is now. The boy is truly a revelation of the human capacity to devotion."

"What are you  _talking about_?" Elizabeth said, and her voice broke. "I don't  _understand_."

The Director smiled, and stepped up beside her, cinching an arm around her waist to turn her. He pointed up to the second floor, where Sebastian was standing absolutely still, watching them from in between the stacks. She could see Colleen, too, hiding in another row, a gun in her hands, waiting for the signal. She hoped that they'd managed to usher all the students out before taking their positions. "Do you see him?"

"Sebastian?" There was a knife in his hand and her back against the wall.  _What keeps me from killing you now, my lady?_  "What about him?"

"He's still so beautiful," said the Director, and he traced his hand down Elizabeth's shoulder as though in reverence. She didn't dare move. "So very, very, beautiful. But it's lesser than it was before, somehow. His assumption of humanity saps his essence from him. Do you understand?"

She tried very hard to stop it, but she could feel the shudder go up her spine. She didn't want him touching her. Didn't want him near her. "Not particularly."

"Of course you don't,” he said, curt, dismissive, callous. "You're human. But myself? Sebastian? We're different beings than you, my dear, and always have been. Even in this garb of ours, we're more than you. At the same time, though, we need you as much as you need air, or food, or love." His fingers trailed down the side of her neck, absently, to her collarbone. "Your souls mean more to us than you can ever know."

She was shaking, and she knew he would be able to tell. But she couldn't make herself stop.

The Director paused. Then he smiled. "He's going to die, you know."

"Sebastian?"

"No. Your cousin. He's struck a deal, and those who strike deals with devils always die in the end."

She couldn't breathe for a single terrifying moment. When she finally inhaled, she seized Ciel's shoulder again—maybe she'd never let go of it—and held on. It was warm under her fingers, even in this strange gray world. Elizabeth's voice trembled. "You're lying."

"On the contrary, my dear,” the Director said. "I always tell the exact truth to the souls I like."

She shook her head, stepped back, pulling away. She stood between him and Ciel, the way she always had for Ciel, even if he'd never known it.  _Low-heeled shoes, Mother's teachings, a sword to protect you. These are the "nice things" my current self is made of_. "Why are you talking to me? You want them, not me. Why are you talking to me?"

"Because you're the only one of them I can trust to do what needs to be done."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you?" The Director stepped back, smoothed his jacket down, and smiled at her, his eyes gleaming in his ivory face. "Don't you understand, Miss Elizabeth?" And then his voice changed, just slightly, echoing, ringing through her like a bell, and she wasn't even sure if he was still talking aloud or just whispering inside her, like some twisted guardian angel.  _If you truly love someone, you should understand._

"I fell because of him, you know,” the Director said. "I fell from a very great height."

And then he snapped his fingers again, color snapped back into the world, and he was gone. Elizabeth tripped backwards and landed half on the couch, half on Ciel, who grabbed her by the shoulders automatically. She was barely breathing, she realized, when she finally inhaled and felt her whole body shiver.

"What happened?" She couldn't speak. Ciel pushed her back into the couch and turned so he could look her in the face. "Elizabeth, what happened?"

"I don't know,” she said, and he let her go. Elizabeth clenched her arms over her chest and tried to stop shaking. She failed. "I don't know."

* * *

 

If he was ever going to try this, it had to be now or never. Phipps stubbed out his cigarette on the lamppost and let the end drop to the sidewalk, pulling his workman's cap closer down over his forehead. Up in the flat, someone moved past a curtained window.

Theodore Parker had been out all day. Phipps wasn't entirely sure what the man did, or where he went, other than maybe working on translating the papers they'd given him in exchange for the sample Scarab. There was nothing else that he was working on, so far as the queen was aware. Of course, Parker was smart enough to keep his less-than-favorable activities secret from everyone, even his own little sister. He had only ever reached out to them because they had had the materials he'd needed. Parker would be the type to vanish after a hurricane like this one—the one that was building right now, in the heart of England—died down. He would take the things he cared about and he would vanish. No one would ever see him again.

The girl, though…the girl troubled him. Nobody knew much about Felicity Parker, other than the news of her accident in the papers.  _Young girl plunges out of third story window._ She'd been around nine at the time. Five years ago now. No, ten, he thought, remembering the date. The mother had died a few months later. Their father had died when Theodore had turned sixteen, around a year after the accident. They'd been in the custody of their uncle for a while, but then the man had killed himself through drink and lost ambitions, and they'd gone with the man in black.

 _The Watchdog's dealing with him, though_.

Phipps checked his watch, closed it, and slipped it back into his pocket just before the knife pressed against the skin of his throat.

"You've been watching us for three days now," said Felicity Parker, her voice low and husky. Her arm was tight around his throat. Only her legs were mechanical, he remembered, her hips and part of her spine. Not her arms. He could break her arms if he had to. "I'd say you were from the Watchdog but you don't smell like a kennel."

"I'll take that as a compliment"

"What are you doing here? Tell me."

She hesitated, and Phipps took his chance. He seized her wrist, twisted, and then she'd been slammed back into the wall of the alley, and he'd wrenched the knife from her grip. The girl lashed out with one leg, trying to kick him, maybe break his shin, but she was still recovering and she was too slow; in a second he had her own blade against the skin of her throat, and she was glaring at him with her mismatched eyes, the brown one moving in sync with the blue, but with no emotion to it.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, "so don't use those legs on me."

"Take the knife away, then."

"And have you knock me out and run off? I'm not that stupid." She looked so young. She was seventeen, he remembered, but she looked so  _young_. Like a child. After a moment, Phipps slid the knife up his sleeve and stepped back, away from her. Felicity closed her eyes, clung to the wall, and took a deep, shaking breath. "I just want to talk to you, Miss Parker."

"You're from Yorkshire,” she said.

He scowled. He was always struggling against the accent. He thought he'd done away with it. No one had commented on it for a very long time. "What does that matter?"

"I like Yorkshire better than London."

This made absolutely no sense. He was beginning to wonder if Grey was right and the girl was absolutely mad when she stepped away from the wall and looked at him. It was a curious look. She didn't seem to be angry anymore, or even speculative; she was simply observing. When she spoke again, her voice was duller, had less of an American accent. "You're here to talk to me about the Director."

Phipps hesitated. Then he nodded, once. "Yes."

Felicity wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "You're really not from the Watchdog, are you?"

"I don't work for my lord Phantomhive, no." He rather thought Grey would have had a fit if he'd been there. The question wasn't exactly something a queen's butler wanted to hear. "But I wanted to talk to you about what you're doing in this country, Miss Parker."

"Ah." She studied him for a little bit longer, and he wondered if this was how Baldroy had felt, trapped in that basement. It had taken a great deal of coaxing to get that scrap of information out of the man, and that had only been after Phipps had managed to get him drunk enough that he wouldn't remember anything the next morning. He'd dyed his hair for the occasion and it had taken hours to get the stuff out. "Why?"

"Considering your recent activities, I should think you wouldn't need to ask why."

Her mouth quirked into a bitter smile. "Well, you'd better come upstairs, then."

That gave him pause. Phipps looked at her. "You're letting me in?"

"You're just going to keep watching us if I don't, and there's no point in letting you hang around for no reason." She looked up at the sky, and wrinkled her nose. "Besides, I think it's going to rain. Like it does every day in this damn country."

Felicity paused at the entrance of the alley, lifting one pale eyebrow. "Aren't you coming?"

Grey was right, he thought, hurrying to catch up with her. This girl really was insane.


	30. His Cousin, Dancing

She had been standing outside of the funeral parlor for half an hour when she first began to think that maybe coming here had been a mistake.

Elizabeth still wasn't entirely sure why she'd kept the appointment in the first place. Maybe it was out of some strange misplaced hope that she'd misheard; that her hunch was wrong, and that her cousin and the boy she loved hadn't struck a bargain with the Devil to who knew what end. Even in her head, the thought sounded ridiculous. Before the  _Campania_ , she never would have even considered believing it. But now with fallen angels and metal men haunting her nightmares, she wasn't sure a devil was so far-fetched any longer.

_I fell because of him, you know. I fell from a very great height._

What did the Director even want her to do? Elizabeth leaned back against the door of the funeral parlor and crushed a bit of broken glass under her foot, feeling the crackling up through her boot. It was almost dark now, and if she didn't leave soon, it was quite possible someone would arrest her for loitering. Still, if there was a chance, she had to take it. Just like with the meeting with the Director.

_If you truly love someone, you should understand._

She would wait for a little while longer, and then go. There was no point to have come here otherwise. Elizabeth pulled the letter from Caroline Fotheringhay from her pocket, paging through it again. Ciel had kept the original, of course, because he needed it for his slowly growing pile of evidence, but he'd had it copied for her, and she'd been able to compare every single word Sebastian laid down on paper with the original letter. "Just so you don't think I'm tricking you again," Ciel had said, almost wryly, and she would have checked his forehead for a fever if it hadn't meant touching him. It was short, only a few small pages, and if it had been meant as court evidence it wouldn't have mattered at all. The testimony of an adulteress? Not in the Queen's court. But to the queen  _herself_ , maybe…

She unfolded the letter.

_My dear Miss Middleford,_

_I address this letter to you because I would feel uncomfortable to address it to anyone else. It was, after all, you who was attempting to protect my son and myself, though it perhaps did not work out entirely the way anyone planned._

_Of course I also owe a debt of gratitude to the Earl Phantomhive, and his house for sheltering us in this dark time; however, I find there is little I have to say to him, other than my deepest apologies for having intruded upon his home in such a manner as this one, and my thanks for allowing us to stay here until Stephen has recovered enough for us to vanish or return to society, whichever comes first._

_It's difficult to know where to begin, my dear Miss Middleford, especially considering that it's been so long since all of this started. I can only tell you what I know, and I'm afraid that's very little; however, it may perhaps be of some use to you, and so I will endeavor to recall every detail as best I can._

_Damian returned from abroad at the end of last year, and it was only in January that we renewed our relationship, if you could call it that. As I have already indicated to you, I don't believe either my husband or son knew of the affair, and now that Damian is dead, it is a secret that I hope to share only with the two of you. I wish sometimes that I could beg forgiveness of Damian's wife—I don't think I even know her name, the poor dear—but I know that can never happen, and besides, I don't think that's particularly what you want to hear._

_He asked me to keep a careful eye on you, my dear, in the last meeting I had with him before his death. I wasn't sure why; I think he was becoming desperate, and since he knew that I had a friendship with your mother, then I would have more opportunities to watch you than he would. After he died, I received a letter in the mail which said that you and my lord Phantomhive knew what had happened to him, how he had died, and I'm afraid to say I continued my clumsy investigation in order to understand how a girl my son's age had been involved in the deaths of so many. I can only beg your forgiveness, Miss Middleford, though I don't deserve any from you in the least._

_To be honest, I never really spoke to Damian much about his work. I knew he had extensive Asian contacts, mostly in Japan, but also a few in China. I may have heard names once or twice, but the only one I can recall him mentioning the most was Shirakawa, and that gentlemen was one of his primary business partners._

_There were two more, I think, though I only saw them once or twice outside of social occasions and I was never introduced. There was a Russian gentlemen, who Damian described as a toymaker by trade, though what he was doing working with the silk industry I have no idea; the other was Mr. Bartholomew Cutter, who was a few years above my nephew Nathaniel in school._

_No, actually, I've misinformed you—there was another gentleman that I saw with Damian, but it only happened once. A young man from America. I believe his name was something like Parkhurst._

_Mr. Baldroy informs me that I should tell you of anything strange that may have gone on beginning around the time that Damian reappeared, but to be honest there's only one peculiar thing I can think of. There was a girl who worked for my husband as a sort of secretary. She was young and pretty; I believe she and Stephen may have been involved, though I wasn't sure. She was an orphan, however. Towards the beginning of my renewed relationship with Damian, she vanished. I'm not entirely sure if that has anything to do with this, but anything may be relevant, so I thought I should include it._

_There was also one time I was in Damian's library, and I found him working on a translation. It was very old—the lettering looked Greek, I think, or maybe Chinese, though I'm really not certain; I'm no good with languages—and Damian told me it was a Biblical text that Mr. Parkhurst had brought back with him from India. What it was doing in_   _India, I have absolutely no idea, but he locked them up in his desk drawer and I never saw them again after that. I know that his widow hasn't had the heart to throw his things out yet. They may still be there._

There was more, but that was for Ciel to play around with. Elizabeth folded the letter up again, thoughtfully. If the documents—whatever they were—were in Sanskrit, they had the slightest chance of deciphering them. Soma practiced Sanskrit daily; it was one of the few things he had enjoyed studying in school, and he still remembered a great deal of it. Elizabeth had been bothering him to teach her a little bit, though her mother had objected. Soma was a guest in their home, after all, and not a tutor; he was also an unmarried male who was only three or four years older than she was, and if Society caught wind of her studying with him, tongues would wag.

Still, the chance that they had anything to do with the case was slender, no matter what her instinct was screaming at her from the shadows.

"Lady." Twilight was ending. The sun had set, and with its disappearance had come the urchins, crawling out of their alleys like mice, hunting for scraps. The little boy—it might have been a girl, the face was too dirty for Elizabeth to be sure—was only about eight or nine years old, eyes turned up at the corners, hair overlong and tangled. His—her?—voice was clipped with some kind of accent. "Please, lady."

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything,” Elizabeth said, and the child looked up at her for a moment longer. It was a her, Elizabeth decided; something in the eyes echoed something inside her heart, dark and curled up and hidden away like a secret. The hairs on the back of her neck went up, and Elizabeth caught her breath.  _Maybe_ …

The girl let go of Elizabeth's skirt, and dug into her pocket, holding something out. Her nails were streaked and black. She must have worked for one of the chimney sweeps around; there was no way coal could get that ingrained into a human body otherwise.  _I thought Lau said he would be sending one of his girls, not this child._  Still, the risk of missing her window was too great, and if the child was simply a beggar, she could shoo the girl off and be on her way. No regrets. "Please, lady. Please."

There was no one around, other than a few older children across the street, laughing and running a stick up and down one of the iron fences. Elizabeth glanced up at the top of the road before bending at the waist, peeling off her gloves so she could wipe at some of the soot. She wasn't mistaken; the little girl was definitely Oriental, maybe Chinese, though it was dark enough that she couldn't make an exact guess. " _Mei mei,_ _nǐ huì shuō Yīngyǔ ma_?”

Her pronunciation was off, even she could tell that, but the little girl looked at her with brighter eyes, and grabbed Elizabeth's wrist, chattering away in Mandarin. She could pick out maybe one word in five, and she cursed herself for not hiring a new tutor after coming back to England. "Slow down," she said, in desperate English, but by then the girl had deposited whatever it was in her hand.

It was a scrap of cloth, folded many times. Fine silk, she realized, not just cloth, and when she shook it out and held it up to the dying light, she could see the delicate embroidery of the single character reflecting back at her.

"Lau,” she said, and the little girl beamed up at her with her gap-toothed smile.

"Come," the girl said, and tugged at Elizabeth's wrist. "Come, come, come."

Elizabeth followed.

It was dark, and the alley smelled of rotting garbage. The little girl's hand was very cold in her own, but her guide was quite determined; Elizabeth had to trot to keep up. Even just past twilight, there were parts of London she'd really rather not be wandering around him, and this was one of them.

They caught a cab a few blocks away, after taking a winding path that was more to throw off pursuers. The little girl grinned at her one last time, and pointed into the carriage. "Go, lady."

There was nothing for it. She checked to make sure her gun was still in her pocket—though then again, considering the information she was looking for, a gun might not work out. The man running the taxicab was bundled to the gills in scarves and hats and gloves, even though it was the warmest night since the summer started. Elizabeth looked back down at the little girl, clenching the scrap of silk in her hand. After a moment, she pulled her notebook from her pocket and tore a bit of paper out, scribbling something fast and smooth across the paper before going down on her knees in front of the little girl. "I don't know how much English you know,  _mei mei_ , but give this to Lau for me."

The girl nodded. Elizabeth tucked a coin into her hand as well before pressing her hand to the little girl's cheek. " _Xie xie, mei mei_."

The girl grinned a bit, and then vanished back into the London maze. Elizabeth hoped for a single desperate moment that it would go to food, and not gin or opium, but to be honest she didn't think much of that chance. Up on top of the taxi, the cab driver pulled down his scarf and said, "You comin' or no?"

Elizabeth bit back a retort and clambered into the carriage. She would have to make do with the gun.

The taxi had no windows. She only realized that after she'd shut the door and the cab was plunged into darkness. By then, though, it had lurched into motion, and there was no point in her opening one of the doors to try and see. Instead, she closed her eyes, and waited to adjust.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?"

Lizzy screamed. She couldn't help it; she  _shrieked_ , and in an instant a long-fingered hand covered her mouth, muffling everything. Cloth scraped at her cheek. He was wearing gloves. "Shh, darling. I'm not going to bite too hard. And if you stop wiggling I might even give you a bit of a treat."

He smelled like dust and dark earth. Elizabeth went quite still, her hand resting in her pocket, fingers clasping tight around her gun. Her heart was pounding in her throat; she could feel beads brushing against the back of her neck, and feel another heart drumming in deep slow beats against her arm. He was startlingly warm; the last time she'd felt so much heat coming off a person was when her father had caught a fever in Spain and she'd had to keep a close eye on him while their hired maid had gone to fetch the nearest doctor. But a fever like that would have come with the trembles, and this man—because it was a man—was still as stone. Finally, he peeled his gloved fingers away from her mouth, and crossed the cab to sit opposite her, giggling. "You're a very good girl, Miss Lizzy. Still, I don't know if my coming out here to meet you was worth my time yet. To be honest, you're a bit unremarkable."

Sulfur struck. A match flared. Across the carriage, a man with long gray hair and thick black gloves closed the door of a small gas lamp, which he then hung from a hook drilled into the top of the carriage. Elizabeth couldn't help it; she honestly stared. She had never seen a more curious person, and this was after working with Snake, spending time with Soma, and fighting automata. From what little she could see of his face, she would swear to his being maybe in his late twenties, but his hair was gray as soot, and even longer than her mother's; beads and bones were woven into small braids around his face. His bangs dangled down over his eyes, and his clothes looked like they'd been snitched from a centuries-old grave. He laughed at the look on her face, reached forward, and pinched the tip of her nose.

"If you keep staring I might steal that right off your face."

Elizabeth curled back as far out of reach as she could, and wondered if she'd made a mistake.  _Deep breaths, girl_. She squeezed her hand into a fist and drew it slowly out of her pocket, leaving her gun behind. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Names've always had power, you know," said the man, in a strange, reedy, fluting voice. He twisted so that his back was propped up against the side of the carriage and sprawled full length across the seat, pinching a bead and rolling it back and forth between his fingers. She couldn't quite work out why he was wearing gloves, especially in this weather. He kept fumbling the bead, too. "If I tell you what my name is, missy, are you going to try and take my soul?"

Souls again. "You know my name, I'd say it's a fair trade."

"Oh, my name. Nobody's used my name in  _ages_." He giggled. "You've been in my shop, though, so you should know what to call me by now."

Shop. The funeral parlor. Elizabeth clenched her hands tight around her skirt. "You're an undertaker."

"Just Undertaker. I'm all on my lonesome now, y'know. Only one of little old me." He laughed again, and she quite seriously wondered about whether or not this had been the best idea after all.

"You're mad."

"No,  _you're_  boring, that's all." He shrugged. "I'd give you some tea, but I haven't been home in ages, and I haven't had time to find somewhere new, either." There was a deep sigh from the other side of the carriage. "I do so miss my coffins."

That settled it. He was mad. Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her chair as Undertaker settled back into his reclined position, watching her from under his bangs. He had a great terrible scar arcing across the majority of his face, and another one, she realized, circling his throat. Like he'd been hanged. Or decapitated. "Now, what do you want from me? The Chinaman told me you're working with the young lord."

"Not really. Not anymore." Not in this instance, and after this case, maybe never again. She focused on breathing for a moment.  _In and out. Remember what you came here for._  "I was told you were the person I had to speak to if I wanted to learn anything about demons."

The cab hit a pothole, and Elizabeth had to reach up to steady the gas lamp to keep it from crashing to the floor. Undertaker laughed again, high pitched and cacophonous; he rubbed his hands together gleefully, like a child let into a candy shop.

"That, my dear, is a very pricey question, a very pricey question indeed. Do you have anything for me?"

"I have some money, if you—"

"I don't want the queen's wretched coin. I'm not greedy." For an instant, she caught a flash of color from behind his bangs—yellow-green, glinting in the light like a cat's eyes, and her gaze snapped to his gloves as gears rattled away in her mind. "I want something  _way_ more interesting than money. But you're so boring, I don't know if you can give me what I want."

"What is it you want?"

"Oh, nothing much." He grinned at her, his smile stretching freakish wide across his face. "I just want a laugh."

"A laugh?"

"Only a laugh." He shrugged. "It's tougher than you might think. And I don't want to be stuck out here for too long, not with the lordling and his dog sniffing in dark corners. Even though  _I'm_ the one who should be cross. _He's_  the one who wrecked it all."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know any decent jokes."

"I don't care." He tipped his hat forward over his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "I'm waiting."

Silence in the cab. Elizabeth closed her eyes. This was the threshold. She could turn him down, right now; be let out of the cab (or force her way out of the cab), go home, pretend that all of the evidence staring her in the face was ridiculous, that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be real. She could help bring the Zodiac to justice and then go on with the world. She could try and forget Ciel. She could go away. Build a new life for herself. Forget all of this had ever happened.

_If you knew that there were creatures in this world so black at heart, so evil, that they are made of the darkness itself…Would you be able to live knowing that the creatures your parents always told you were just stories were real, and cruel, and hungry?_

She opened her eyes.

"It would help if you told me what you were looking for."

"Ah, but that would be  _cheating_." He drawled the word. "You're getting  _very_ boring. Come up with something. It's been so very long since I heard a good joke."

She'd never been good at comedy. Elizabeth twisted her skirt in between her hands, wracking her brain, trying to think. None of the jokes she knew were at all funny. Edward was the comedian in the family; he could even get their mother to crack a smile, and that took hours and hours of effort if you didn't catch her at the right time. Papa was funny, too, but in a different way, bouncing and happy and belligerent and physical. Elizabeth had always been the one to sit and laugh and clap at others' jokes. She'd never been good at telling any of her own.

_There's more than one way to be funny, my dear._

"I'm waiting."

"Me." It slipped out before she could stop it, but when Undertaker cocked his head to the side, she ran with it. "I…the only real joke I know is me, I'm afraid. I'm such a terrible joke, it's not even funny anymore."

"I don't get it." He pouted a bit. "It's not in the least bit funny." He raised his voice. "Stop the cab, please."

"No, wait, you don't understand." Elizabeth stood up. Her hat brushed at the top of the cab, tugging at her hair, but she didn't notice. "It's me. The biggest joke in my life is me. I've—I'm a freak. The only friends I have are outcasts. I'm in love with a boy who cleans up Victoria's garbage. I—he broke my heart and I'm  _still_  trying to chase after him, and it drives me mad and it's going to destroy me, but I can't—" Her voice broke. Elizabeth scrubbed at her eyes.  _Damn it, don't cry here._  "I can't stop myself. I still care for him too much."

Undertaker was sitting up straight now, watching her. Elizabeth wiped her eyes again, and took a few deep breaths through her nose.  _Breathe. In. Out. Breathe._  "It's me,” she said, and this time her voice was clear and cold. "I'm Ciel Phantomhive's biggest joke. And even you can't tell me that's not hilarious."

For a long moment, the cab was desperately quiet. Then Undertaker bowed his head, and began to shake. When he started laughing, it was thin and reedy, such a trembling sound, but then it grew and deepened, and he was  _laughing_ , laughing hard enough to cry, and Elizabeth waited for the roar of sound to die out, standing in the middle of a stationary cab and watching him laugh at her terrible prank of a life.

Finally, he slowed down. He wiped tears from his eyes. Blew his nose on his sleeve. Then he tapped the cab roof again, and Elizabeth warily sat back down, brushing some of the dust off her skirt. Undertaker was still giggling when he spoke again. "Human beings are such fascinating creatures, my dear. Don't you agree?"

She said nothing. She didn't particularly want to speak anymore.

"Oh, don't be mad. You had questions, didn't you? Ask them. I haven't laughed like that since Sebastian told me about the contract." Undertaker took off his hat and fanned his face with it. "You three, you're the funniest people I've met in a while. I have to say, I'm glad I started working with the Phantomhives."

She eyed him. "You're not going to lie to me, are you?"

"You've made me laugh, why would I lie to you after that?" Undertaker leaned forward, watching her carefully, and the smile on his face was almost predatory now. "Ask me your questions, and I promise you, my dear Psyche, my answers will be nothing but Death's honest truth."

* * *

 

"My lord." Sebastian rapped twice on the open door of the study, wondering whether or not now was the best time to interrupt. It had been a very long time since Ciel Phantomhive had stayed awake until dawn, and despite his best efforts to get his young master to go to sleep, he had been summarily dismissed without so much as a word.

He supposed, in some strange part of his brain that had been developing more and more the longer he remained among the humans, that he deserved it. By human morality, his near refusal to admit the truth about the Ramiel issue had almost cost the investigation greatly. It could also, he assumed, be portrayed as some sort of betrayal of trust, though Sebastian didn't see it that way. Then again, even after all this time, he was no expert on human behavior.

Ciel didn't move from his chair. Sebastian bit back a sigh. The young master had torn the study apart again, wrenching all relevant papers out of drawers and tacking them up across the room in a haphazard pattern that only would have made sense to Ciel himself. After a moment, Sebastian stepped over one of the piles of mechanical designs and grabbed one of the blankets Ciel had thrown into the corner, folding it carefully over his arm. "A telegram came in for you, my lord, marked urgent."

Ciel waved a lazy hand, not bothering to look up. There were rings under his eyes. "Leave it on the table."

"And where is the table, my lord?" Sebastian asked delicately, and when Ciel shot him a glare, he added, "I only ask because the table seems to have been buried."

"I was working."

 _I can see that._  Sebastian folded the blanket, and shifted one of the discarded paper piles off of the nearest chair so he could keep collecting things to be laundered. Ciel made no comment, just held his hand up in the air until Sebastian deposited the telegram, the end already neatly torn so there would be no further distractions from Ciel's project. After a moment, he said, "Do you have any assignments for me, my lord?"

Ciel remained quiet for a very long moment. He fiddled with the torn end of the envelope absently, not looking up from his papers. Sebastian wasn't sure if the young master was even seeing his notes anymore, but simply staring someplace that wouldn't end up distracting him from his thoughts. It took a little while before Ciel finally looked up. "Yes, actually, there is something you can do. I need you go to back to the Zodiac investigation. Dig up everything you can on their history; their families, any particularly important incidents, their studies. Everything. I have a theory, but I want to make sure it's correct before going in with guns raised."

"And the Parkers, my lord?"

"What about them?"

Sebastian hesitated. "Apart from specifics, the number of difference between creatures like the Director and creatures like myself is quite small, my lord. It is…possible that the Director has forged a bond with one if not both of the Parker siblings; it would explain a few of his more…unsettling abilities."

Ciel scowled. "I assume you mean the slaughtering of the Zodiac."

"That and other things." Including his temporal manipulation of the young Miss Elizabeth. It was that, more than the deaths of the Zodiac, that concerned him, and very little ever concerned Sebastian other than the well-being of his charge. He cleared his head, and added, "Until we know for certain, it will be difficult to strategize against him, my lord."

"It's difficult enough  _now_ ," snapped Ciel. He yanked the telegram from its envelope, scanning it quickly. As Sebastian watched, his eyebrows snapped together; the young master read the message again, more slowly this time, and then one last time with his eyes pausing on each word. Sebastian had glimpsed it in the foyer, enough to recall every single word.

 _You are cordially invited to a small birthday tea_  
for the benefit of His Supreme Majesty Soma Asman Kadar  
tomorrow at four o'clock in the afternoon  
at the Middleford House.

_Répondez s'il vous plait._

"Sebastian," said Ciel, still staring at the telegram. Sebastian felt his lips quirk up.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why am I holding this?"

"Because it is a telegram addressed to you, my lord, from the young prince."

"But  _why am I holding this_?" Ciel said again, and his scowl transformed into a full glower. "We don't have  _time_ for this, Sebastian. Soma's just acting the idiot again. There's absolutely no point—"

"If you'll forgive me, my lord, there is every point to attending this little gala." He probably shouldn't have interrupted, but if he let Ciel build up a head of steam, then there would be no discussion at all, and to be honest—which he nearly always was, at least, with the young lord, at least—Sebastian was quite certain that he knew better in this instance. Simply instructing him, however, would backfire. The situation required delicacy. "Attending this small party would mean you are offering a hand of repentance to the Middleford family for breaking off the engagement with Miss Elizabeth."

Ciel's eye flickered. He knew exactly where this was going. "I don't particularly care what society thinks of me, Sebastian."

"In any other circumstance—though it pains me to admit it—I would advise forgetting the incident ever occurred. However, the Middlefords hold an incredible amount of power at court, my lord, and you know it. Without their backing in future it might come to pass that the Watchdog will become unable to fulfill his purpose, and that is something we cannot afford to have happen."

Ciel was grinding his teeth. His hand tightened around the telegram, and then, to Sebastian's slight surprise, relaxed almost instantly. He had matured, Sebastian realized, more than he'd noticed before, and he wasn't sure what that meant for the investigation. For the boy's soul. He would need to keep an eye on his charge.

"Do you think they'd even let me in?" He laughed a bit, the sound bitter as fresh-ground coffee. Or maybe the air on this plane. "I'd be turned away before I even made it to the door."

"Forgive me, my lord, but if you've been invited by the prince, then you already have a foot in the door. I assume his highness went over the guest list with those he is staying with." If he hadn't remembered, then Agni would have. The man was impressively efficient that way. "And to be honest, it has been too long since you've formally appeared in society. I believe the last event you attended was Rebecca Beddor's birthday party in February, and that was before the Season even started."

"You're pushing your luck, Sebastian."

"I'm being practical, my lord. And considering you've already forged an alliance with Miss Elizabeth to complete this case, it shouldn't be that much of a trouble to you."

"I'd rather not see her if I can help it," said Ciel stiffly, and there it was. His opening. Sebastian smiled, and replied in a very quiet, carefully silky voice.

"There is nothing wrong with being in love, my lord."

Ciel looked at him with such an expression that Sebastian wondered whether or not he would have to catch a penknife on its way towards his eye. Then, slowly, he turned his back.

"I'm not in love, Sebastian," said Ciel, and Sebastian wondered why he was trying so very hard to lie. After a moment, Ciel cleared his throat. "Bring me something to eat."

"It would be better if you rest for a while, my lord, considering you were awake for most of the night."

"I have things to do today." He flapped a hand. "Food. And tea. Or coffee if we have it."

In spite of himself, Sebastian bristled a bit. Of course they had coffee. What kind of house would the manor be if they didn't have coffee available for whoever asked for it? He bit back the onslaught of caustic comments that popped into his head, and bowed at the waist. "Shall I prepare one of your suits for the event tomorrow evening, my lord?"

"Why are you even asking? You're clearly going to do it anyway."

Sebastian smiled. "As you wish, my lord."

"Get out before I throw you out."

Sebastian was very careful to shut the study door quietly behind him.

* * *

 

"What is  _he_ doing here?"

Edward dropped down onto the couch beside her, looking incredibly grouchy. Elizabeth turned, meeting Soma's eyes, or at least trying to; he was chattering away to Ciel about something, not paying attention to any of them, and in his usual oblivious way, not noticing (or pretending not to notice) the fact that the tension could have been cut with a butter knife. The only reason Agni and Sebastian weren't serving it with the hors d'oeuvres was because they'd gone off to collect something from the kitchen, talking in low voices. Elizabeth wondered if Agni, at least, knew what Sebastian was, or if he simply believed in the pretense, just like everyone else did. Her parents were sitting together on another couch, talking in very quiet voices; she saw Mama dart a glance at Ciel once or twice, and when her father caught her eye he pulled a commiserating face. Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.

"It's Soma's birthday, Ed. He's going to have to go to the palace tomorrow to suffer through the state celebration; this is something simpler. And Ciel is his best friend, even if he pretends he isn't." The fact that Ciel had even showed up at all would mean more to Soma than anything Ciel actually said. Frankly, she hadn't expected him to even show his face; when Paula had shown him in, Mama had turned such an impressive shade of purple that Elizabeth had been sincerely concerned for her health. If it ended with Ciel getting the top of his skull shaved off with a meat cleaver, then on his own head be it.

"That doesn't mean we should have let him in the house." He glanced at her sidelong, and then took her hand. Elizabeth laced her fingers through his, quite determinedly not looking across the room at Soma and Ciel. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Well," she amended, "maybe not fine. But much better than I could be. It's been months."

Months since the broken engagement. Weeks since the massacre. Days since her secret conversation with Undertaker. Elizabeth took a breath and let it out, slowly. She hadn't expected to see Ciel again so soon after that, hadn't planned for it. Wasn't sure how to react.

Edward's hand tightened on hers, dragging her back to the present. His eyes, which were the same as hers, almost down to the eyelash, were grave and dark. "That doesn't mean anything, Lizzy, and you know it."

Damn him for being right so often. And damn him for knowing her so well. Edward and her father were the only people in the world who could tell when she wasn't telling the whole truth; not even her mother had picked up on the way she omitted certain facts, whether because Frances didn't want to hear them or because she was too stubborn to realize they were there, Elizabeth didn't know. She should have known better than to try. She shook her head a bit. "Ed, it's fine, honestly. I can handle it. Besides, there's no point in ruining this for Soma."

There was no way in heaven or hell that she was going to allow  _anything_ to wreck this for Soma. It had been Agni who had suggested the party in the first place; he'd pulled Elizabeth aside later and told her, in a quietly apologetic voice, that this was the first time in many years that Soma had wanted to celebrate his birthday, but that his master had not had the courage to ask. Not because Soma was lacking in courage, but because it was the first time he'd found a place where he could honestly trust the people around him; for the first time in his life, he didn't have to second guess everything that was said to him, wonder what his acquaintances wanted from his father, worry that he was nothing but a burden. Which was why he hadn't wanted to ask.

Elizabeth had nodded yes, and then gone and put her arms around Soma and not let go for ten minutes.

Despite her feelings, despite Ed's feelings, and Mama's and Papa's, she wasn't about to let this fall through. Soma needed a birthday party, and for that to be complete, they needed Ciel, and damn the consequences. Without a doubt, the situation was not nearly as bad as it could have been. After all, her mother could have challenged Ciel to a fencing duel. At least she hadn't done that yet. Or just forgone fencing entirely, taken a rifle off the wall, and shot him.

Elizabeth darted a look at her father, who lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug and continued his conversation with Mama in a low soothing voice.

 _Definitely the shotgun_.

"Where's Colleen?" she asked suddenly. Edward shrugged.

"Outside, I think. She was here a few minutes ago." Ed's eyes flickered to the garden door. "You're absolutely sure."

"You're acting like Grandmama, Ed. Really, I'm fine."

Edward looked at her. Then he smiled, and a touch of sadness layered his face. Elizabeth tightened her grip on his hand and looked away, staring at the fireplace. She'd forgotten how lonely Edward was. Papa's assistant, away on business so often, not willing to make friends with people his own age because most of them were foppish idiots and the rest were just out to play around with the Middleford name. If she wasn't mistaken, Soma was the first friend that Edward had had in years. Elizabeth let her head rest on his shoulder for a moment, and wondered. If Edward ended up taking a position as one of Victoria's agents, as he was fast on his way to becoming, how long would it take before he became like Ciel?

Her stomach clenched. No matter what, she wouldn't let that happen.

Elizabeth watched Soma and Ciel bicker for a few minutes longer, wondering at the atmosphere. Then, eventually, she stood, letting her hand slip out of Edward's. "I'm going to look for Colleen. I'll be right back. Make an excuse if Soma comes looking."

"What about the Phantomhive?"

"No blood, because then Paula will have to help wash it out and she's not feeling well lately."

Edward grunted. "I make no promises."

Elizabeth couldn't help it. She grinned a bit, leaned down, and pressed her lips to his cheek. Edward went pink with surprise. "Brother mine, light of my life, try not to kill anyone until I get back, all right?"

Edward stared, and Elizabeth wondered just how long it had been since she'd been just Lizzy. Just Lizzy. To be honest, she had rather missed it. Things had been so much easier when she'd been Just Lizzy.

She wondered if she could ever become Just Lizzy again.

Petrovsky stared at her with dead eyes from the back of her mind. Undertaker and the Director whispered in a discordant chorus in her head. Elizabeth pressed her lips into a tight line and left the room before Soma noticed her vanishing out the garden-side door.

Colleen was hiding out in the hydrangeas, watching the plants grow or something; Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure. Her shoulders were hunched close together, her hands clasped tight in her lap, a mixture of awkward, pained, and shy, and for an instant Elizabeth truly contemplated leaving her be. Colleen was prickly on her best of days; finding her when she was vulnerable could provoke an eruption comparable to Krakatoa.

_Colleen came after you._

That was true enough. When she'd been caught in the midst of the Numbness, Colleen had been the one to chase her down and snap her out of it; Colleen had been the one to drag her out of Ciel's shadow, give her a purpose, make sure she knew it. She owed it to Colleen. She'd probably always owe Colleen. Elizabeth cleared her throat and stepped out of the shadows, peering at the Irish girl as best she could through the dark. "I was wondering where you went."

Colleen said nothing. She looked away. Elizabeth sat down on the bench beside her. "What are you doing out here? Soma was looking for you."

Colleen grunted a bit, and leaned back to look at the sky. The sun was fully set now, and the stars glimmered above their heads. It was still warm enough, though, considering it was full-on May, and she felt a bit sticky under her shawl. Sometimes Elizabeth envied her brother—men in general, actually, for being able to wander about in fewer layers and still being called 'decent'. The corset was strangling her.

"Colleen?" she prodded. Another long silence. Then, finally, almost inaudible:

"'m tired. That's all."

Colleen wasn't a very good liar. It was one of the few ways they were similar, Elizabeth thought; neither of them could lie to save their lives. When she had to, Elizabeth lied by omission. Colleen, though, just chose not to lie, so when she did it was even more obvious.  _Why_ she would lie was the deeper question, but Elizabeth had a nasty feeling that if she asked, she would get punched in the nose.

She hesitated. Then she reached out and took one of Colleen's hands, holding on when the other girl tried to pull away. She didn't try nearly as hard as Elizabeth expected. "If you don't want to tell me, that's all right. It's just that Soma won't be happy if he figures out you're hiding out here rather than spending time in there."

Silence for a moment. Breathing spiraled away into quiet; Colleen frowned, her eyebrows snapping together, her lips moving without speech as though she was sounding out letters on a page. "It's too loud,” she said, finally, and for a moment her accent went so thick that Elizabeth had to go over the words again and again in her head to work out what they actually meant. "It's….it's too loud, in there. It's not…I don't like loud places. That's all."

For a second, Elizabeth nearly asked why. Then common sense kicked in and she kept her mouth shut instead, just squeezing Colleen's hand, waiting for an answer. It took a while. Finally, Colleen took a shaky breath and added, "People would never shut up in—it was never quiet in Cushman."

"Cushman?"

"The factory,” Colleen said, and closed her eyes. "The clothing factory. The machines never  _stopped_."

"Oh." She'd never thought about it before. Colleen couldn't have lived in the whorehouse her whole life; she was from Ireland, she was nearly fifteen, she had to have been somewhere before working in her abbey. But a factory…  _There's so much in the world that I don't yet know._

She'd heard about the clothing factories. Long hours, no light, endless machinery. Children losing fingers and hands and lives to the whirl of the spindle and the pounding of the textiles. Women who came down with consumption after being worked too long in thick dust, choking to death as they sewed. The endless cranking. An image of the automata popped into her head, machines working with machines, and she wondered if  _that_ was what the Zodiac was killing for—a way to produce human goods without human effort. And wasn't that what a machine was supposed to do?

She shook  _that_ thought right out of her head. "Do you want me to tell Soma you've gone to bed with a headache? I promise you, he'll understand. He may come ambush you later, but he'll understand."

"No, it's all right." Colleen took a shuddering breath, and held tighter to Elizabeth's hand. "It's all right. Just…gimme a minute."

"All right."

Colleen closed her eyes and breathed, and for an instant, Elizabeth was strongly reminded of Ciel. They were so very alike in so very few ways, but when the similarities surfaced, they surfaced with a vengeance. Revenge drove them both, made them tremble with darkness, drew others to them. The difference was that Colleen had a hand to pull her back. Ciel had no such thing.

He had a demon crouched on his shoulder instead.

 _Do you know, my dear, I don't think I've ever met a creature like the young lord Phantomhive_. Undertaker's voice echoed in her head, twisting and twining around the hydrangeas.  _He destroys everything in his wake. A frightened little boy who doesn't know what sort of power he's dealing with._

 _A boy who's made his choice._  A voice in the back of her mind said.  _A boy who was trying to avenge his parents._

 _With the Devil as his helper?_  said Undertaker, but the voice in her head was much less  _Undertaker_  and far more  _Elizabeth_  now.  _Is that really something that can be forgiven?_

"I just…" Colleen said, and Elizabeth looked at her. Colleen was staring up at the moon, her hands linked loosely in her lap, and her face was dry and empty. "I thought it would be over with by now, y'know? I thought it'd be over."

"So did I," said Elizabeth, and stood, pulling Colleen to her feet. "But that doesn't mean we can't be who we are, Colleen. We don't belong to the fight."

_We don't belong to our devils. We belong to ourselves. We of all people should understand that._

Colleen said nothing. She let Elizabeth lead her back inside.

Inside was warmer than before, filled with music. Agni had found one of his instruments and begun a traditional Bengali tune that Elizabeth recognized; they'd played it often in the south of France. It was one of Soma's favorites. They'd only been on the couch for a minute before Soma came to join them, and pulled Elizabeth onto her feet and into a waltz, singing at the top of his lungs. Elizabeth couldn't help it; she laughed so hard she could barely breathe, stumbling, and out of the wild whirl of the room she saw Edward grinning, and her father tugging her mother up out of her chair to dance as well. Colleen was fighting a smile, and Elizabeth beckoned to her, beaming. When Colleen shook her head, creeping deeper into her corner—she still wasn't used to parties at all, didn't like them, probably never would—Soma whirled them closer, and they both seized Colleen by the wrists and dragged her into the dance.

Ciel was leaning against the wall, silently, his eyes guarded and his arms crossed over his chest. Elizabeth caught sight of him watching them, and met Soma's eyes over Colleen's head. He grinned at her, and whisked Colleen away, chattering away about something. She went to Ciel, and offered half a wary smile. "You don't have to hide over here, Ciel."

"I'm not a dancer,” he replied, without looking at her, but he uncrossed his arms, his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides. His eye darted over to her parents. Neither of them were paying attention; Frances was laughing for the first time in ages, and Alexis was smiling. No danger from that quarter.

"Neither is Colleen. I'm worried for Soma's feet." His mouth quirked a bit. Elizabeth hesitated, and then held her hand out. He stared at it, and then at her, his eye widening. It was the first time she'd willingly offered her hand to him since she'd punched him in the face. Elizabeth smiled, and it didn't feel forced.  _I know the truth about you now. I know how scared you are. And I don't care._  "Come on."

Ciel's lips parted, and though she saw his fingers twitch, he didn't move. Elizabeth stood there, waiting, and she hoped against hope that Sebastian would not return until he made his decision. She cleared her throat, and added, "Please?"

Even though she saw him lift his hand and reach out to her, it was still a shock when his fingers brushed hers. Elizabeth squeezed his hand, gently, and tugged him off the wall into the circle of dancers. Colleen was twirling with Edward now, and Soma had retreated to stand by Agni, his voice building, strong and clear and pure. Elizabeth smiled. "I promise I won't step on your toes."

Ciel didn't laugh, or even react much at all, but his hand tightened around hers, ever so slightly, and when his mouth quirked up, it was a real smile.

Elizabeth laughed, and once she started, she couldn't remember how to stop.


	31. His Cousin, Running

His thighs were cramping.

Phipps shifted slightly inside the cupboard, leaning his head back as far as he could go. It wasn't very far; he had maybe a few inches of free space, and no matter how he contorted his spine, there was no way to get relief. His back had been aching for almost two hours now, and he still hadn't had a chance to pick his way out of the cupboard, or even get his hands untied. As it was, it was a miracle they hadn't come to check on him yet. He'd been growing gradually more and more shifty over the past hour or so, and even though he'd been trying very hard to make no sound, sometimes it was difficult to keep his feet from slipping.

The spider-bite on his hand had swollen up to roughly the size of an egg; he didn't have the light to look at it, so he couldn't tell how bad it was, but he didn't like the way it was throbbing. Phipps tapped his head against the wall of the cupboard and sighed, just slightly, closing his eyes as outside, the clicking of the clockwork hearts echoed through the hall.

There were times, and to be honest they happened more often than he cared to admit, when Grey was right about something. It wasn't the fact that Grey was right that bothered him; it was the fact that when Grey  _learned_ that he'd been right, he never let anyone else forget it. And Grey had been insistent that while they could work quite well with Theodore Parker, Felicity was made of an entirely different cloth.

 _A madwoman,_  he'd said.  _High Priestess of the Zodiac. Devoted and both brilliant and stupid in her devotion. Absolutely not to be crossed._

But he'd obeyed the Queen's orders rather than Grey's (admittedly melodramatic) recommendation and his own instincts, and now he might not make it out of the cupboard alive, because of a poisoned scrap of metal.

 _When I get out_ —because it could not be  _if_ but  _when_ , for if he let it be  _if_  then he was lost before he started— _I'm never going to hear the end of this one._

He supposed that nearly getting killed by one of Felicity Parker's spider-machines gave him a bit of an excuse, but really, he had no excuse at all for what had just happened aside from his own stupidity.

The spider-bite began to itch as the door opened, and Phipps went very quiet at the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor. The ropes around his wrists—he almost had the knot undone, but until he did there was no point in looking any less the prisoner—seemed to tighten at the approach of the footsteps, and he closed his eyes, lengthening his breathing. But whoever it was didn't stop at his door; instead there was a sigh, and a creak as someone settled themselves on a chair, and after a minute or two Phipps tentatively opened his eyes again.

Another footstep on the wood.

"You're late, Cutter," said Felicity Parker, and Phipps bit his tongue rather than frown. The spider bite had played with his brain more than he'd thought; he should have been able to recognize her from the weight of her footsteps, which were an odd mixture of heavy and prancing. He'd spent a few seconds committing the sound to memory as they'd entered the house, after all. And then, of course, one of those damn spiders had dropped on his head and he couldn't remember anything else. "I distinctly remember that I said twelve-thirty."

"It's not even twelve-thirty yet, Miss Parker." Cutter's steps were strange, one foot dragging behind the other. A limp, he thought. Phipps wondered if he was nervous about where or who he was meeting. "I'm early."

"And yet I was made to wait." There was something delicately dangerous about those words, and he doesn't even have to try to hear Cutter's awkward shuffling. "We need more bodies. There's a shortage after that damn Phantomhive went through your house; we need more bodies in order to be able to meet the terms of the agreement. You're the one in charge of that little enterprise."

"An… issue has developed with our usual techniques, Miss Parker," said Cutter. "I think the Watchdog has spread the word about us, or at least told people to stay off the streets if they can. I've been chucked out of half of the workhouses and the b—houses of ill—" He stuttered to a stop.

"Whorehouses, Cutter. Whorehouses. It's not that difficult a word to say.  _Whorehouses_."

In the cupboard, Phipps winced. Cutter shifted uncomfortably again. "Well, yes.” Phipps could almost hear the smirk in the man's voice as he said, "You seem much more amenable to this sort of thievery, Miss Parker. I would have thought after what Phantomhive told you at the manor you would be completely opposed."

"Trash is trash, Cutter," Felicity snapped, "whether it's alive or dead doesn't change that. Besides, I serve the Director same as you, and if it's at his command, there is nothing I won't do."

Silence for a long moment. Phipps held his breath. Then Cutter spoke, and his voice had gone hard once more. "Bodies are beside the point at the moment. We're nearly out of the opium we need. That slanty-eyed bastard's cut off our supply. Nobody's selling to us. The bodies matter less than the elixir, Miss Parker, for without that, we'll have no bodies left to change."

"Don't treat me like a child, Cutter! I know that as well as you. What do you propose to do about it?"

"What do  _I_ propose?"

"You're the one in charge of that branch of the project. You take and prepare the bodies. Theodore, Petrovsky, and Shirakawa craft them. Of course, Petrovsky's dead now," added Felicity, dismissively. "I suppose I'll have to take his place with the next operation."

"You—"

"Is there a problem with that, Mr. Cutter?" asked Felicity, sweet as venom.

After a moment, Cutter said, "No," and his voice was hoarse, though Phipps couldn't tell, from inside the covered, whether it had gone croaking from fear or some entirely alternate emotion. There was a moment of charged silence; then clinks of metal and one of the ticking hearts went quiet.

"Where have you been keeping our dear Nathaniel, Mr. Cutter? I've been wondering."

"The Director left him with Shirakawa," snapped Cutter, and there was a bite of frustration and jealousy in his words. "I can't get to him."

"Pity. I've missed him." She said it in the same sort of way one could miss a favorite book, or a plaything one hasn't seen in a long while. Phipps wasn't sure quite what to make of the sudden change in personality from the girl in the alleyway, the one who had looked at him with such frank and tired eyes. He could put it down to her simply being a very good actress, he supposed, but his instincts were telling him differently; there was a different cadence to her words now, something harsher and more alien. He didn't know what to think, and that was rare enough for him to be interested.

_I need to get out of these ropes first, though._

"What about the Middleford girl?" asked Felicity. "What have we done about her?"

"The bitch is too protected,” Cutter snarled, and there was a thump of flesh against wood. "Agents of the Watchdog have been patrolling her family home, and whenever she goes out she's armed and accompanied. The last time she went out on her own she met with that damn opium dealer, or one of his crew; Longfellow recognized the taxicab."

"She's treading a dangerous line, then, is Miss Lizzy." Was it his imagination, or was there a hum of appreciation in Felicity's voice? "It'd almost be a shame to kill her."

"That sounds like your brother's line of thinking."

"As starstruck as Theo can get with women, sometimes he's right about their innate natures. If only she wasn't so loyal. We could use her if she weren't."

"In case you've forgotten, she killed Petrovsky and tried to kill me."

"If you'll recall, there have been others who've done worse," said Felicity, unconcerned. There was a tearing sound, the scrawl of pen across paper. "Take this to the Director for me. I know you're in closer contact than you want to admit. I just want him to read this."

"What about the bodies?"

"I'll deal with it."

"But—"

"I said  _I'll deal with it_ , Cutter, now shut up and get out."

Silence. Then there was the thumping drag of a limping man, the quiet click of the door, and the fiddling of screwdriver against metal. It was only once the main door had closed and some minutes had passed before Phipps leaned back and let out a long breath. He wondered how long it would take for them to realize that they had a perfectly acceptable body to craft into a machine right there in their storage cupboard.

Felicity Parker slipped off her stool, came to the cupboard, and opened the door. The sudden flash of light made his eyes burn and water, and Phipps blinked rapidly. She looked at him with those curious eyes of hers, one blue and bright, one brown and glass, and said, "You've been very quiet."

Fittingly, Phipps said nothing.

"Good. I didn't tell Cutter you're here," she added, as she crouched and waited. There was a short knife clenched in her right hand. When Phipps didn't move, she snapped her fingers. "Give me your hands, idiot."

When Phipps still didn't move—exposing his hands meant exposing his wrists and if she managed to get her blade into those he was gone—Felicity made an impatient noise and sliced the blade through the swelling bite on top of his hand. In spite of himself, Phipps made a soft sound as the skin opened up and something dark began to weep from the cut. Felicity put the knife down and pressed against the swelling, and pus ran from it like tears. "I put a bottle in your pocket while you were unconscious. Drink a mouthful of that every morning, or the bite will get infected again." She wrenched his hands forward before he realized it and sliced through the ropes before standing. "Quickly."

Phipps bent out of the cupboard. His back popped, and he felt his knees crack, but he was standing up, at least, and not on his way to being turned into an automaton. Mixed blood and pus dripped from his fingertips to the floor. He looked at the wound on his hand almost blankly for a moment, and then gritted his teeth and pressed down on top of it with the handkerchief he had tucked into his pocket. He  _hated_  infection. "You're a queer kidnapper."

"I'm not a kidnapper, I'm saving your life,” Felicity said, and again, the clash between instinct and knowledge made him pause. Because there was no reason for Felicity Parker to save his life, not really, not if she was as loyal to the Director as she claimed. She would know who he was by now. She had to. Phipps paused, and Felicity turned on the threshold of the room of clockwork hearts, cocking her head at him. "If you want to get out before Cutter comes back, now would be your chance."

He hesitated, pressing the handkerchief tight over his cut hand. Then he said, "What are you trying to do? Really."

Felicity said nothing for a very long moment. Then she scowled. "You're not going to turn me, you know. The Director means more to me than any of you ever could."

"Even your brother?"

"Shut up, or I'm going to change my mind about letting you go."

Phipps shook his head a bit. "If you're loyal to the Director, there's no way you should be letting me go. You have no reason."

"I have every reason," she snapped, and wrenched the door open. "Good men are hard to find, Mr. Phipps. The Director will want more of them."

There was nothing more she would say. Phipps paused on the threshold. He could see the front door from here, and the windows and the streets of London. He glanced at Felicity one last time, and said, "If you ever need anywhere to go, Miss Parker, the Queen will take you in."

"I don't think that'll happen,” Felicity said, in a clipped voice. "But thank you."

She shut the door behind him. The ticking of the clockwork hearts faded as he left, and walked away down the street.

Grey was never going to let him hear the end of it.

* * *

 

The birthday party for the Sandford girls was, all in all, quite a splendid affair, and it really wasn't the fault of the twins that Elizabeth was sitting in the corner, bored out of her mind.

She stirred her tea absently, watching the chattering couples across the room. Most of the guests were outside in the garden, taking advantage of the sunlight to eat and laugh and celebrate a shared eighteenth birthday and the meaning that number held. She'd already turned down a few requests to take a turn about the room, simply because she didn't have the heart to suck it up and pretend she wasn't walking on needles, waiting for the Director to do something, waiting for Ciel to send her a message, waiting for Colleen to finally tell her the truth, for something to  _happen_.

_If you truly love someone, you should understand._

_But I don't_ , she thought,  _I don't understand at all._

She hadn't seen Ciel in a while, either, not since Soma's birthday, and even though she knew there was no way he would ever show his face at a place like this, she kept half-holing he would walk in. At least then she wouldn't be so deadly bored.

_I am Elizabeth Middleford. I am the daughter of the Marquis Alexis Leon Middleford and Frances Phantomhive-Middleford, the sister of Edward Middleford. I am single, but there is an interested party. I can speak in tongues, write in codes, and manipulate poisons. I like to ride and to dance and to go to the theatre. I'm willing to broker a deal with a known criminal. I can kill. I won't break my promises. I am going to destroy the Zodiac if it is the last thing I do._

_And I am still in love with the boy who was my fiancé._

A slave to love, she thought, for once not trying to toss the idea away.  _I'm just a slave, aren't I?_   _A masochist._  Because there was no way she would still love Ciel Phantomhive if she hadn't been. The fact that she  _did_ still love him, even after everything, meant that something had to be wrong with her. It was inescapable. If anyone else had  _dared_ to do that to her, she would have never spoken to them again; hated them, reviled them, cut them from her life as sure as scissors through paper. But it was Ciel and that changed all her rules.

 _I should get away from him_ , she thought absently.  _I shouldn't stay near him. I should move on. I have to._

By all rights, she should have never continued the investigation. She never should have agreed to work with him, because now she was tripping down a very thin line, one between who she was now, who she had been, and who she could eventually become. She was quite certain, now, that if she stayed strong, she could become someone that could change things. Even if it was only a little at a time, even if the changes weren't earth-shattering, she could  _change_ things. She could save people.

She wasn't sure if she could change anything at all if she stayed near Ciel.

 _I have to become that person_ , she thought, and snapped her fan closed.  _I won't go back to what I was before. I_ won't _._

But had she really changed at all? In some ways, it still felt like all she was doing was chasing after Ciel. It was what she had always done, every part of her stretching towards him, trying to wrap him up and protect him and keep him with her, safe and happy.

That was before she'd met with the Undertaker. That was before she'd learned about Sebastian.

 _Ciel's made his own choices._  He'd made his own deal with the devil. He'd doomed himself to nothing but pain and heartache and her chest tightened at the thought, her eyes burned, and all she wanted to do was cry.

_I can see your soul, dear one, and it's just starting to glow again after all of the tears. You stay near the Phantomhives much longer, you'll mangle it beyond repair._

_I have to go_ , she thought, and this time she really did feel the tears.

"Would you like a glass?" came a voice from above her, and Elizabeth jumped. She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers, grouchy, automatic.

"No, I don't really—"

"I think you'll want some," said the voice, and the posh English vanished to be replaced by deep Texas, and Elizabeth looked up to see Theodore. He stood there, watching her, his hair brushed back, his mouth drawn into a tight thin line, like twisting wire, and when she stood his shoulders went stiff as a board. He was dressed as one of the Sandford servants, holding a tray of sparkling champagne, and she took a flute.

"What are you doing here?" she said, in a low voice. "Did the Director send you?"

"No. You'll find me quite unaccompanied by any chess piece." Theodore lifted one shoulder in a shrug and looked over her for a moment before his eyes slid back down to hers. "I wanted to talk to you."

She could remember a time when Aunt Anne had swooped down on her, scooped her up into her lap, and whispered in her ear that one could never hate someone who loved them. Not truly. "Hate and love are such close things, my dear, that each can entwine together. If someone loves you, in truth, deep and wonderful and pure, then there's no way you can hate that person. Not really."

She had never hated Theodore. Not the way she had wanted to. He'd been too close to her, too near to becoming her friend. Even while she'd been infiltrating the Zodiac, she'd never despised him. Maybe she should have known through that, by instinct, by some kind of deep, basic knowledge. She looked at him again, and still, she could find nothing in her that came close to any sort of hatred. Not pity, either, nor any particular kind of deep affection. A hint of relief that he was alive, confusion and curiosity and concern. Finally, she tilted her head. "You look tired."

The corners of his mouth turned up, just slightly. For a second his eyes changed, from very guarded to very soft. There were deep dark rings under them. She had a feeling that he hadn't slept in a long time.

"I came to talk to you," he said, and nodded towards the French doors before vanishing back into the crowd. She took her time finishing her drink—the bubbles made her want to sneeze—before collecting her parasol and fan and heading out into the sunlight.

It took some maneuvering to get out to the fence without being followed. Elizabeth doubted anyone would notice her missing once she was gone; the Director had been right about one thing, and that was she had no real friends in society. She had  _friends_ , but none that her mother wanted her to have, none that would have qualified as appropriate companions for the only daughter of the Middleford family. Well, except maybe Soma.

She wasn't sure she could call Ciel her friend, either.

He'd dropped off his tray somewhere. In the sunlight his hair had streaks of blonde running through it, like veins of gold through pale earth; he really looked nothing like a story-book villain. He looked like a man, exhausted and desperate, and when he turned to look at her, happy for a single breathless instant. Then his face shut down again, and he looked at her, waiting.

Elizabeth scraped her slipper through the dust. "I thought you didn't want to see me again, Theodore."

"Minds change," he replied, and he didn't bother dragging out the silence. "The Director's on the move."

She tightened her fingers around the hilt of her parasol. "We haven't heard anything."

"He's making sure to be very quiet, but he's definitely moving. He's collecting the materials he has left and packing them up. I haven't been able to get a lot of information—they've been keeping us in the dark, Cutter and Shirakawa, especially after Petrovsky—" He went quiet for a moment, and then continued. "After you killed Petrovsky. Not even Felicity knows anything more than the date we need to leave."

"You're leaving?"

"Next Saturday," said Theodore, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "There have been two compartments booked on the Orient Express to Istanbul. Once we get there, we'll be taking another train to Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem?" Her world rolled. "But—"

"Lizzy, I don't have a lot of time, I'm sorry, you're just going to have to listen to me." He shook his head. "I have some theories, but there's no time for those either. The only thing that matters is that once he gets on that train, once he gets to Jerusalem, he's untouchable."

"Why are you telling me this? I thought you were loyal to the Director!"

"I make the best with what is given to me,” he said, with a queer tone to his voice. "I did what I had to do, even if I didn't like it, but nothing has changed." After a moment, he took a breath and said, "You need to be on that train, Elizabeth. You and Phantomhive and his damn butler. You need to be on the train. I don't know what'll happen if you don't."

He looked at her, and she could see it in his face. He wasn't lying; at least, he thought he was telling the truth. Then again, this was Theodore Parker, and he had made his living lying and stealing and killing and destroying since before she had boarded the  _Campania_ , but maybe the instinct that kept her from hating him was whispering to her now, telling her to believe. "I understand."

The tension swept out of him. Theodore closed his eyes and let out a very long breath through his nose, lifting a trembling hand to his bare head. "You believe me."

"Why wouldn't I?" The image of Theodore standing over the body of Petrovsky, his eyes fixed on hers, floated to the front of her mind. "I owe you my life, Theodore. And you wouldn't have taken this sort of risk unless you were serious." Or lying through his teeth, but she could deal with that later if she had to. "Of course I believe you."

He hesitated. Then he swallowed, and said, "There's something else."

She waited, lifting her eyebrows, quizzical.

"Be careful of Phantomhive's butler. I know that you trust him—"

"I trust Sebastian no further than I trust a rabid dog," said Elizabeth in a clipped voice, though perhaps this wasn't as true as she wanted it to be. Ciel trusted Sebastian, and the Undertaker had been quite clear that Sebastian would do no harm to anyone, unless Ciel ordered it, until the deal was complete. "You needn't warn me about Sebastian."

"You don't understand, Elizabeth. He's like the Director. He's…he's worse. I don't know how to describe it without—"

"He's a demon," she said. "He's a demon bound to Ciel. I know."

The tentative peace fell and shattered then, the way an egg is rolled out of a nest: achingly slow, and then spattered all over the sidewalk, thick and warm and wet as blood.

"You know."

"I know," she repeated. Theodore's eyes were wide and blank with surprise; he stared at her as though she was some monster, some creature that had rolled out of a secret hole in the earth, and Elizabeth felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up at the sight.

Finally, he licked his lips. "And you don't care?"

"Of course I care," she snapped, and her voice went low and angry. "Are you stupid? Of  _course I care_. My cousin has gone and bound himself to a demon that's going to  _destroy_  him and you have the nerve to tell me that  _I don't care_?"

"Elizabeth—"

"Don't you  _dare_  say that to me, Theodore Parker. Don't you ever  _dare_  tell me what I'm feeling, damn you. Don't you  _dare_."

"Lizzy—"

"It was his own decision and as much as I hate it, I can't change it. There's nothing to change and I can't lecture him for it, not now, not ever." She took a breath. "You just back off, Theodore, right now, or—"

"Elizabeth!" He said, and his voice cracked a little bit and Elizabeth realized that he was staring at her, something strange in his face. She went quiet, watching him, keeping her hand tight around the handle of her parasol, and Theodore cleared his throat. His hand flickered around the collar of his shirt. "I—"

There was only the slightest glimpse of metal over his shoulder before the sword came down, and Elizabeth screamed.

There were automata everywhere, creeping out of bushes and from behind pots. Men and women mostly, but there were children now, and she felt sick as she drew the blade of her sword and lashed out, piercing the nearest creature through the throat. Theodore snarled and clamped one hand iron tight over the cut in his shoulder; there was a crimson smear on his cheek as he stumbled to his feet and stood beside her. "The hearts."

"I know," she snapped, and wrenched her blade to the side. With a terrible screech, it snapped through the copper cords in the automaton's throat. The thing jittered weirdly, like a dancing spider, in the instant before she lunged again and pierced it through the chest. She needed another sword, she needed more room, she needed backup, but there was no time and nothing available; she felt the air move behind her and barely ducked in time before a bladed hand sliced through the tree trunk behind her. She stabbed the automaton through the heart before ducking and rolling and seizing Theodore's wrist, dragging him along behind her. The automata clicked and whirred and clattered behind them, moving freakish fast, and she ignored Theodore's snarl of pain as she took a sudden turn and twisted his injured arm as she pulled him along, ducking out of the garden and into the street.

The Sandford house wasn't in Mayfair, but in a small district off of Regent Street, and at this time of day there were more people wandering up and down in the shops than there should have been at any time other than Christmas. Elizabeth gritted her teeth, and plunged into the crowd. She was running with a naked sword, they were covered with blood, and trying to wade through the throng without scratching anyone would have been like trying to pick a piece of hay out of a stack of needles, but there was no way the automata would stop, and they needed to  _run_.

Elizabeth pushed through a trio of university students, and by this time Theodore had finally laced his fingers through hers and started keeping up, so they were running like madmen down the middle of Regent Street and there was absolutely no  _way_  she was going to be able to keep her reputation after this.

 _We need somewhere to go._ There was no way a taxi would take them; they were attracting too much attention to beg for refuge in any of the major shops. Her hair had come down out of its ties and it was blowing in her face as she spun on the spot, whipping Theo around with her, trying to see where to go. There were too many people, too many dresses, crushing her —

_That's it._

"This way!" She shouted, and she bolted west.

They crashed into Nina's shop together, and Lizzy slammed the lock down before whirling and staring at Nina and her customer, a girl with her back to them, her hair bound up in a tight bow. There was no governess, nor any of Nina's assistants; just Nina and the girl and the people peering in the window. Nina took one look at them and pointed over her shoulder.

"The back room," she said, and straightened. "Get down and stay down. Don't say a word. I'll be there in a moment. And if you get any blood on my fabrics I'll flay you alive."

Lizzy could have kissed her. She nodded and scrabbled behind the counter, opening the thin door into Nina's workroom, and Theodore followed her, his hand still tangled in hers. It was only once she'd shut the door, locked it, and pulled all the shutters on the windows that she finally realized the way her knees were trembling. Theodore looked at her, swaying on his feet, and she realized he looked almost gray. The shoulder of his coat was soaked through with blood.

She glanced at the door for a moment, and then took a deep, shaking breath. "Come on. Sit."

Lizzy left her sword on the table, ignoring the blood spots it was leaving on the wood. She made sure to wipe her hands on her skirt before touching Nina's fabric, however. She had no doubt that the threat was quite literal, after all. Theodore glanced back at the door, wary and haggard, before he dropped into the wooden chair with a grunt, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling. She could hear him breathing, loud and harsh from the wild sprint, as she grabbed her sword again and pierced through the edge of her skirt, slicing as best she could before tearing the rest of it off and folding it. "Here."

He didn't take it for a long time. Finally, he reached out awkwardly with his left hand, and brushed his fingertips against hers for the slightest of moments as he closed his hand around the cloth. Elizabeth pretended not to notice; she went into the cupboard, where she knew Nina kept the brandy, and only hesitated for a second before pouring a bit into a glass and swallowing it. It burned on the way down, enough to make her choke, but she kept swallowing until the warmth began to spread through her stomach, and her hands stopped trembling quite so badly. After a moment, she poured another finger full, and offered that as well. "I'll keep the pressure on. Drink it."

"You would've made a good soldier," said Theodore, and he swallowed the brandy in one go as she pressed her hands down over his shoulder. She could feel the blood wet and warm and sticky under her fingertips, and it made her stomach churn as Theodore winced, swore, clenched his hand tight around the crystal tumbler.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She could see the ends of the wound from under her hands, long and dark and bleeding. "I think this needs to be stitched."

"Where the hell are we?"

"Nina's my dressmaker," she said absently, and wondered how strong Nina's needles were. Theodore choked.

"Your—"

"She's a very good dressmaker,” Elizabeth said, and turned away. There was no point in explaining further. The main shop door tinkled closed, and in a few seconds Nina had winkled the inner door open with her key, put her hands on her hips, and glared at them both.

Elizabeth stood her ground. Under her hands, she felt Theodore flinch.

"If that ever happens again, Elizabeth Middleford, I'm going to make you pay for my upkeep, because I'm not going to have any more customers."

"I'm sorry, Nina."

"By rights I should chuck you out right now before whatever you're running from catches up." She paused. "But I won't. And I convinced the girl to stay quiet."

Elizabeth winced. She hadn't thought of that. "Thank you, Nina."

Nina sniffed a bit. She was in one of her less outrageous outfits today, but Elizabeth rather thought the sight of a woman in trousers had stunned Theodore speechless; he was simply staring, his eyes wide, his skin very pale, and Nina stared back at him before looking back to Lizzy. "Is he brain dead or just dying?"

"His shoulder needs stitching."

Nina wrinkled her nose. "I'm not a doctor, Miss Lizzy."

"I can't take him to a doctor, we don't have time." Elizabeth put on her best pleading face. "Please, Nina, you're the only help we have right now. You know I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't important." As it was the shop was already in danger because of the automata. It was possible that the automata already knew where they were, and if they did, then they didn't have a lot of time. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to involve you in this."

"Are you joking?" Nina asked, and pulled her kit from her trouser pocket. She took out a long, curved, wicked-looking needle, and grinned. "I've always wanted to play a game like this."

Theodore stared. Nina beamed at him, and when she turned back, she'd threaded her needle with something that bore a distinct resemblance to black fishing twine. "Best drink some more of that brandy, boy. You're going to need it."

"Excuse me." The voice was tentative and soft, and together the three of them looked to the door just in time to see Rebecca Beddor poke her head through the gap, her officious nurse peering behind her. "I had an appointment with—"

Nobody moved.


	32. His Cousin, Invited

He could remember a time when he'd been very small, listening to his father playing the violin.

Vincent Phantomhive had been a much more talented musician than Ciel was now. Even when he'd been too young to understand it, he'd known that whatever his papa had been doing, it had been far more complicated and delicate and beautiful than the silly books that he was always reading. Sometimes it was smooth and soft as a caress, trickling under doors and trailing through windows, handfuls of silk flung out into space. Other times—and he only understood later that these times had everything to do with the times that the life of the Watchdog had clung too tightly to his father, slunk too close to the brightness of the manor—the notes had rolled down the stairs like tumbling stones, dark and deep and dreadful. He'd learned not to knock on his father's door during the landslide.

He'd discovered later, from Aunt Frances, that his father had actually composed, but the papers had been locked in the bottom drawer of the old desk, which had burned in the fire. His mother had played the piano, and he had enjoyed the times they'd done duets best of all, when he'd simply dropped down onto the middle of the floor and listened with a pillow clenched tight in his arms.

His favorite piece to listen to had always been Bach's  _Sonata No. 3, Largo_  for violin. It hadn't been one of his father's favorites to play, but whenever Ciel had insisted, he'd smiled a bit and the notes had rippled free. It had taken a very long time for Ciel to just try mastering it, and even now it made him think of violets, his mother's smile and his father's laughter. A time long gone now.

"My lord," said Sebastian, and Ciel stopped in the middle of the piece, lowering his violin and narrowing his uncovered eye.

"What is it?"

"I have come with the results of my investigation, my lord, if you would permit me to go over them."

Ciel looked back at the musical score. There was a scrawl of his father's handwriting in the upper right-hand corner— _for Ciel_ —and it made his throat tighten, just slightly. It had been one of the only things Madame Red had been able to salvage after the fire, and she'd kept it very close. It had been willed to him after her death.

After a moment, he closed the book, and Sebastian slipped inside to close the door behind him. His nose wrinkled a bit at the state of the room. Ciel still hadn't taken down his papers—they made more sense to him hanging in a semi-circle, with relevant pages grouped together. He'd been studying the opium trade again. Lau had cut it off, thankfully, but the trade had been the clue to this whole conundrum in the first place, and he didn't want the issue to become buried under everything else. The weighty half-sphere he'd collected before rested like a dead bird on his desk. Sebastian didn't seem to notice it; he stood up straighter, tucked his hands behind his back, and said, without waiting for a command, "There isn't much of interest about many of the Zodiac, sir. Men with relevant industries brought together by the Parkers to give their operation more of a cover. Beddor was a cloth and clothing merchant, as we already knew. So is Shirakawa, but I managed to uncover one or two things about his industries that would worry a typical investor. Shirakawa has both hands plunged to the wrists in human trafficking, my lord, and it seems that Beddor was sent to Japan solely for the purpose of bringing him back so that the Zodiac could have direct access to his merchandise. Both Davies and Gillian worked in medicine, which probably led to them distilling the drug that the Director was using to work away at the link between the soul and the body. Petrovsky was a dollmaker; it seems that he came to England accompanied by the young Mr. Parker, after a stint of life in India."

"What about Fotheringhay?"

"The boy was working mainly through Beddor's connection with Caroline Fotheringhay. He was brought in for purely monetary backing." Sebastian frowned, the slightest curve of disapproval. "The others don't seem to have had much to do with the planning or creation of the automatons, which begs the question why they were there in the first place; the Director could have done his work in much greater secrecy and probably with better results without so many members, especially because the only ones that he actually seems to need are the ones that remain alive now. Aside from Fotheringhay, obviously." Sebastian rubbed his jaw absently, thoughtfully. "It seems a question that needs to be answered."

"The useless ones are dead," said Ciel, and waved a hand. "We'll understand it later. Have we figured out what controls the automata?"

"Not of yet, but it seems to be a simple enough trick that those other than the Director can use it."

"And Cutter?"

"Ah." Sebastian's lip curled a bit. "Mr. Cutter is, I believe you term it, not the most upright individual. Very bad reputation amongst the lower city, my lord, and he's been building it for years. His role in the Zodiac itself is unclear; they've been very careful to erase most if not all evidence of the organization itself, especially after the unfortunate incident at the manorhouse."

Well, that was to be expected. Besides, he wasn't all that much interested in the dead, anyway. Ciel dropped back into his chair, casting his violin aside, but keeping the bow, which he rolled absently between his fingers. "Where are they?"

"They've separated, my lord. I was unable to track down the Director." The words rippled with frustration, carefully hidden. "The Parker girl is in a small flat on the edge of the East End, my lord, but she seems to be alone. The remaining members of the Zodiac must be staying with the Director."

"That's inconvenient."

"I did have a stroke of luck, however," said Sebastian, and Ciel sat up a bit straighter in spite of himself, his bow forgotten in his hands. "It seems that the young Miss Parker has booked a ticket on the Orient Express for this Saturday, and it would not be too much of a leap to assume that she will not be alone when she finds a compartment."

"The Orient Express?" What a queer turn of events. Of all the situations he'd considered in the past few weeks, this was not one of them. "And of course you have an idea as to why."

"Less of an idea than a seedling that might eventually germinate into a hunch, my lord, but yes." Sebastian smiled his inscrutable smile. "I do indeed. The Orient Express opens out into Istanbul, my lord, and Istanbul is not so very far from the Levant."

Ciel made an impatient noise. "That's meaningless to me."

Sebastian smiled. "Have you forgotten where the Levant is, my lord?"

"Of course not," Ciel snapped, but for some reason the answer didn't come to him. He  _knew_ that he'd learned this, because he'd studied maps since he was a child. But it just was. Not. Coming. "It's in Turkey, isn't it?"

"Close, my lord. The coastal countries between Egypt and Turkey, which encompasses the holy city of Jerusalem. And that is one of the holiest places known to the human race—at least, today. Thousands of men and women have died in an attempt to protect Jerusalem. The heretics and the terrible and the ever-so-holy. A warped and fallen megalomaniac like the Director would like nothing better than to visit Jerusalem."

"It's not logical."

"Regardless of logic, it is what seems to be happening, and if we are to move, my lord, it should be now." Sebastian put a hand to his coat pocket. "I have already purchased the necessary tickets."

"Good." Ciel closed his eyes and let his brain run free for a long moment. "We'll need to—"

There was a tentative rap on the door. Snake. He poked his head through, looking nervous. "I-I'm sorry to interrupt, Smile. But a letter's come for you. Says Dante."

"It couldn't have waited?" asked Ciel, not bothering to keep the acid from his voice. Snake stiffened a bit, but he shook his head and straightened.

"No, my lord. It's…from Miss Middleford. Says Dante."

Middleford. Lizzy. Ciel nodded, and the footman handed the letter to Sebastian before bowing and vanishing back down the hallway, a hissing viper following him down the stairs. Sebastian's smile grew just a bit wider as he handed the envelope over, a fact that Ciel studiously refused to acknowledge.

The note itself was short, only a handful of short sentences. Words leapt out at him off the paper.  _Automata. Parker. Jerusalem. Nina._ Sebastian cleared his throat, and said, "Is it safe to assume that we will be heading out shortly, my lord?"

"Immediately," Ciel corrected, and tossed the note aside. "Go and hail a cab, Sebastian. We're going to Regent Street."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

 

"I locked the door, Nina," Lizzy hissed. The blood had done Rebecca in; the poor thing had fainted at the sight of Theodore's shoulder (still gaping at the time, red staining his shirt and slipping through his fingers in thick ropy tendrils) and now that they'd finished with the cut, she'd been heaved into the far back of the room onto a pile of scraps, so that Paula could rub her wrist and keep an eye on her. The governess, on the other hand, had been clipped on the back of the head with a very hard object (Theo's pistol), gagged, and deposited in a closet. It would probably come back to bite them later, but remembering how the woman had treated Rebecca, Elizabeth couldn't make herself gain much sympathy.

"I locked it, Nina," she repeated. "I know I locked the door. What happened to the door?"

"I unlocked it," said Nina reasonably, and before Elizabeth could explode, put a finger to the girl's lips. "Listen to me. If the people trying to find you saw a shop closed down in the middle of the day with blood on the door handle, they'd know you were here. She wasn't due for another hour, I thought we had time. Nobody comes into my shop without an appointment. It's on the door."

And it was, Elizabeth remembered, in big engraved letters.  _No Entry Without Previous Engagement._  Nina was  _very_ serious about who she took as customers, and it was only through Rebecca's connection with Lizzy that she had even managed to wrangle an appointment in the first place. Nina often sought her own customers out, rather than the other way around.

Elizabeth bit her tongue and pulled back, panic subsiding just slightly. Across the room, Theodore pressed a hand to his bandaged shoulder, and winced a bit. He still hadn't left; he sat silent and watchful, waiting for Rebecca to wake up, she supposed. He caught Elizabeth's eye, lifted an eyebrow, and waited, and Elizabeth looked away quickly. She didn't really have anything to say to Theodore Parker. Or, more accurately, she had too many things to ask, and too little time to ask them.  _You're going to have to sometime soon. Before he vanishes again._  She might never learn the truth otherwise.

"I need to talk to her." Elizabeth turned, watching Paula and Rebecca. She was still deeply asleep, but when Paula spoke to her, her head shifted. Rebecca was coming back. "I need to tell her something." Lizzy glanced to Theodore. "Has she met you before?"

"I've never spoken to her," said Theodore neutrally. Nina straightened, and pressed her lips into a thin line. "But she'd seen me with her father before he died. She probably knows I worked with him. She's not an idiot."

 _No,_  thought Lizzy,  _but she's an innocent_ , and she felt her heart clench as Rebecca made a tiny sound. Paula tapped the girl's cheek lightly with the palm of her hand, whispering something soft and soothing. There was little to say, Lizzy thought, except maybe the truth.

But she couldn't tell Rebecca the truth.

 _You would want the truth_ , said a haunting little voice at the back of her mind _. You would want to understand._

She was still drenched in blood, she realized, looking down at her skirt. Blood and dirt. There was a scratch on her hand from the edge of a blade. She hadn't noticed it before now, and suddenly it began to ache, a steady gnawing in the heel of her palm. Rebecca's father was dead, she thought, and her fiancé Mr. Yates was off in nowhere; she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the man since the news had come out that Beddor had been murdered. He'd probably broken the engagement. She'd heard very little about either Rebecca or her mother since the funeral, hadn't wanted to think much about them either, because then the guilt threatened to overwhelm her. But now she couldn't escape it.

 _My investigation has ruined her life_ , thought Elizabeth, and she swallowed.  _The least I owe her is the truth_.

Even if it meant she would lose one of her only friends.

She rubbed her hand, tucking it away in her skirt. Nina noticed; she tore another piece off of her scrap bin and wrapped it around the cut, light as a butterfly until she pulled it closed. She would need to wash it later, she thought absently, and pulled away, rubbing it with her good hand. "Thank you."

Nina looked at her for a long moment, and then the corner of her mouth quirked. Before she could say anything, though, Paula spoke.

"Miss Lizzy, she's awake."

Elizabeth took a breath, and let it out.

"Send word to Ciel. I want him here as soon as possible." She hesitated. "And put the governess somewhere."

"She's in the closet."

"I need her somewhere far away." Elizabeth slid her eyes towards Theodore, who was inching towards the door. "You stay. If the automata are after you as well as me, there's no way you'll be able to leave on your own. Especially not with that shoulder."

He scowled. "Elizabeth."

She cocked her head and frowned right back at him. "Theodore."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Theo threw his hands up in the air, and let out a strangled sound of pain when it tugged at his sliced shoulder. "Fine.  _Fine_." He glared at the wall. "I need whiskey."

"There's more in the cabinet," said Nina absently, and when he looked at her, she sniffed. "What sort of assistant would I be if I didn't at least have strong spirits to hand?"

"Good," snapped Theodore, and went to the wardrobe to ferret out the bottle. Elizabeth turned to the back wall, where Rebecca was sitting up slowly, both hands clasped around a glass of water, and suddenly she felt off-balance. She'd gone out of her way to make sure she didn't run into Rebecca after the funeral. This was the absolute last thing any of them needed right now: Rebecca Beddor, somehow the one who had started it all, bundled up into a corner of Nina's dress shop, her eyes stormy and confused and full of hurt.

 _Now or never, girl_.

"Hello, Rebecca," said Elizabeth, and sat down beside her. "There's something I have to tell you."

It took half an hour. She explained as best she could, without going into much detail, without telling her anything that could have put Rebecca Beddor in danger. She told her about the investigation, but not what they were investigating. She told her that Beddor had been involved on the wrong side; she told her about the Zodiac, what little she could, and she told her about her father's death. Rebecca's eyes went glassy and her skin went pale, but she clenched her hands tight around her handkerchief and she listened. After Lizzy was done speaking, she stayed quiet for a very long time. Finally, she looked up, and said, in a hollow little voice, "That e-explains a lot."

Lizzy closed her eyes. It felt like she'd been stabbed.

Nina called a taxi. It was the only thing they could do, now. There was no guarantee that Rebecca would keep their secret, nor was there any way that Elizabeth could beg for forgiveness. All she could do was apologize, and hope. Rebecca didn't look at her as she left. They had to carry the snoring governess out into the carriage; they could only hope the woman wouldn't make too much of a ruckus when she finally woke up. It was so risky, so, so risky, and Lizzy knew that letting Rebecca go could turn out to be the one decision that finally shattered the investigation, but there was nothing else she could do.

She went back to her mending and tried to pretend that she wasn't fighting back tears.

It was another fifteen minutes before the door opened again, and Elizabeth looked up from the mending that Nina had left her—"part of what you owe me," the seamstress had said, with a jaunty wink that said there would be many more things to come—to find Ciel staring at her from the doorway. Sebastian stood behind him, tall and crowlike even in his tutor's disguise, and Elizabeth gave him a long look before standing and putting her sewing down. "Ciel."

"Elizabeth," said Ciel, and he crossed the room without looking at Theodore. He stopped a few feet from her, but it looked like a second thought. After a moment he brushed the skin under her eye and said, "Blood," in a mild, undisturbed voice.

Elizabeth blinked and copied him. Her fingers came away tacky. Her eyes were sore, too, but there was no way he was going to comment on  _that._ "I thought I'd managed to get it all."

"Clearly not," he said, and his mouth quirked a little bit. It wasn't funny at the least, but she could feel a sad laugh burbling in her throat. She bit her tongue rather than let it escape.

Theodore was watching Sebastian. He wasn't even bothering to disguise it; he was outright staring. Next to Elizabeth, Ciel went a bit stiff, and his voice was curt and crisp as he said, "I've told you, Parker. Sebastian isn't for rent or sale."

Theodore's eyes snapped to Ciel, and then to Elizabeth; he smirked a bit, something dark flickering in his eyes. He looked shockingly like Felicity for a moment. "Well, isn't this cozy. Cousins together at last."

"That's unnecessary, Theodore," Elizabeth said, before Ciel could open his mouth and make everything worse. "And you know it."

"For you, maybe," said Theodore, and put a hand up to his shoulder. He winced. There was still blood coming through the bandages they'd wrapped awkwardly around it, and through the open collar of his shirt she could see the silver tattoo over his heart. "It's an essential part of my character."

"I wasn't aware you had a character," said Ciel snidely, and if she hadn't already been trying so very hard not to crack at the edges, Elizabeth would have snapped at him. As it was, all she could do was glare, and even that was a feeble little thing by her mother's standards. After a moment, she sat back down and put her face in her hands.

"Miss Elizabeth," came a soft voice, and when she looked up, Sebastian was watching her. She froze, a rabbit in a trap. Suddenly she could feel a knife against her skin, feel the dark rippling of the air. _What keeps me from killing you now, my lady?_ He tilted his head, concerned. "Are you well?"

She couldn't remember the last time Sebastian had spoken to her. He'd been avoiding her since then, she realized: he'd stayed outside during Ciel's midnight visit, kept to the edges of the room when she'd entered. Aside from the manorhouse, when he'd knocked her out and carried her away, he hadn't come near her. Suddenly she could see Sebastian, who'd played with her when she'd been a child, who'd tolerated her and taken care of her and kept Ciel from slapping her. She took a breath and let it out and watched him and wondered— _what's his plan in talking to me? What does he want? What is he even doing, anyway?_

"Not particularly," she said, and collected her embroidery. She wouldn't trust him, she decided. There was no reason to. She didn't like him, and frankly there was nothing she'd like better than to punch him for everything that he'd caused, run him through for everything he'd done, to her, to Ciel, to all of them. But she wouldn't.  _After all, Ciel's made his own choice._ "Not until this is done."

Sebastian nodded, as though he understood, but he stayed quiet and thoughtful beside her for a long moment. Then he pitched his voice a bit quieter, and said, "I believe there is much we have to discuss."

"Not particularly," Lizzy repeated. "I don't want to know."  _I don't want you near me._

"I meant about the investigation, Miss. If the young master has requested your assistance, then it is only fair that you know the entirety of what we know."

"Oh," said Lizzy. She blinked at him. "Thank you." It was automatic, and it burned a bit in her mouth, but it was in the air and there was nothing she could do about it now. "I…think I have things to tell you both as well."

He bowed at the waist. "It would be highly appreciated."

A cautious dance of words. Here and there a whiff of a test. Breathing slow and deep, Elizabeth nodded, and then she looked away from him. "Theodore."

Theo looked around. So did Ciel. They hadn't been arguing, exactly, but they hadn't been speaking very calmly, either. A battle of quips, she thought. Elizabeth swallowed a bit. "Considering your current situation, it would be far safer for you to cooperate with us, rather than play the captured villain."

"A villain? How am I a villain?" There was a bite to his words that hadn't been there before, something that she didn't hear when it was just her and him and silence, but Elizabeth ignored it.

"Theo, please."

He stayed quiet.

"I'd offer to give you to the queen," said Ciel, "but she'd just give you back to me. After all, there's a particular way that the nation deals with those that murders and mutilates its people, and it has very little to do with the queen's justice."

"That's not much of a threat, Phantomhive, especially when you're still pretending you have any mystery left around you at all," snapped Theodore. He hesitated, though.

"You said you had something to tell me, Theo," she said, and he closed his eyes and turned his face away. "Please. If it's about the Director—"

"Fine," he snarled, and she lost her voice. "Fine.  _Fine_. Just…just stop." His eyes opened, and there was such an expression there, a tangle of emotions she couldn't begin to translate, that she flinched. "Don't say I didn't warn you, darlin'."

* * *

 

It took a long moment for him to begin, long enough for Ciel to start tapping his foot against the floor in frustration. He didn't exactly expect Parker to say all that much—after all, there was only so much a hostage could give away without losing his value—but still, the wait was aggravating. Nina was settled back in her shop again, no longer paying attention; Paula was out there with her, not willing to listen. Elizabeth had gone back to her embroidery, probably just to keep her hands moving. She always needed something in her hands, he realized. Her foil or a knife or a needle and thread, even if she butchered it. Something to play with as she thought.

_There is nothing wrong with being in love, my lord._

_Shut up, Sebastian_ , he thought.

"My mother found him when she was a girl," said Theodore Parker, and Ciel snapped back to attention. "In the garden, she said. In a circle of dead grass. He couldn't speak at first, but after she brought my grandmother out to see, he asked them to kill him. He called himself a monster. My grandmother didn't like him, but my mother—" He stopped, and looked away. "My mother insisted on taking care of him. She named him Gabriel. He didn't keep that name, obviously, but she called him that until the day she died."

His voice was harsh. Ciel glanced at Elizabeth; her hands were still in her lap, her eyes fixed on the needle and thread. The only indication she'd heard anything was the way she'd gone white around the mouth.

"She died protectin' him," said Parker, and the accent was back, thicker than Ciel had ever heard it. "She worried herself sick over 'im and she caught somethin' and it killed her. I was the only one there when she died. I was fourteen.

"Fee fell out of the window a year later, and we all thought she was going to die too. There was no way she could've survived, not at that distance, but she clung on. He kept her alive somehow. Didn't let my father even call a doctor. He locked himself in her room every morning, and did something to her, and my father tried to stop him but when he did Fee became worse and there was no hope."

Parker went shudderingly silent then, and stayed that way for what felt like a millennia.

"I made a deal with him," said Parker, and he pulled aside the collar of his shirt. Silver gleamed through the skin over his heart. "He said he needed me for something, and that if I did it for him, he'd save my sister. I did it to save Felicity. And he did, he did save her. But she was different, after. She started to change. Even now—especially now, she's…not who she used to be. Sometimes she is, but mostly…" Hesitation. Then: "I didn't notice. Not then. I felt too powerful. I felt like I could do anythin', like if I held my hand out and waited the world would give me anything I wanted. He didn't have to convince me to do anything. I went out and tried to make my own way. And I was real lucky; somehow no one seemed to figure out they were makin' deals with a child."

Well, that sounded familiar. Ciel glanced back at Sebastian, and the butler smiled.

"I was in Mexico when my father died," Parker continued, and his voice had turned cold now. "It was only when I came back that I realized how different she was. It wasn't that she was grievin' overly much; she wasn't grievin' at all. She kept saying,  _He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a good man, Theodore. It's better that he's dead._  Accordin' to her, our father didn't deserve to live anymore."

_According to her, I didn't deserve to die. She said I was a good man._

Ciel stiffened.  _Bard._  She'd freed him, given him the drug to keep his hand from falling off, with no explanation, no reason at all other than the one he'd so easily dismissed.  _Good men are hard to find._  And when they'd been caught in the basement of the manor.  _They_ betrayed us _, Director!_

Parker caught his eye, and a bitter smile crossed his face. "Realized it, have you, Phantomhive? Figured it out? I shouldn't be impressed. You may be dumb, but you're not stupid."

Elizabeth looked around, then, her eyes flicking from Ciel to Parker and back again, confused. "I don't understand."

"She killed him," said Ciel. His hand tightened around the head of his walking stick. "She murdered your father?"

Parker said nothing.

Lizzy went pale. "You can't mean that you think she—"

"I don't have to think about it, darlin'. She didn't. My sister would have never have done anything like that to our father, no matter how much of a bastard he was." He lifted one shoulder into a shrug. "The Director's pet, though, the…the girl you met, the one who tried to kill you, the one who nearly died trying to stop you…that wasn't my sister. That one, she could have done it, and would have. The instant the Director gave the order."

Elizabeth looked sick. She glanced at Ciel, colored, and then deliberately turned her face away. Parker caught it, Ciel knew he had, but the only indication that he'd even noticed the exchange was a slight tightening in his mouth, a clench to his jaw that hadn't been there before. In another instant, he'd smoothed it away, and he looked as prim and proper as he could in a loose bloody shirt and bandages.

"I'd been lookin' for a way to get Fee back on her feet for a while by then, almost a year, and I was in India when I heard about him. A clockmaker from Russia, they said, living in Delhi, but better than any Belgian in playin' about with gears. I hadn't seen the Director in months then. He'd stayed behind with Felicity, there was nothin' I could do to separate them then.

"Petrovsky was finishing an automaton when I found him, only about the height of your hand, but it was so intricate…He told me he'd been designing human-sized machines for years, but he hadn't ever had the chance to try and make one." He'd begun to get control again; his accent was fading, slipping back into the past. "I thought it was insane, but he told me he could do it, and by then…there wasn't a lot for Fee to hold onto anymore. So I brought him back with me, and the Director brought Fee to England. They worked together to get the skeleton done, Petrovsky and the Director with Felicity watching them. She's always liked tinkerin' with things.

"The original idea was simple. It was actually somethin' my father had been working on for a while before everything. Machines making machines. Saving manpower and time. It wasn't something they should've been able to do, not really. It shouldn't have even been a consideration. After the operation, though, the Director offered us all a deal—he would do the best he could to keep the plan going forward, and in return we would do as he instructed. The idea… I dunno how to describe it. It was like my mind was on fire. I inherited my father's ambition, and this was one of those wild cards that I thought would have changed everything, if I just let it. Fee was recovering, and she was acting more like herself, so I forgot about the mark on my chest. I designed the clockwork heart, planned the business, wondered how far we could go. It seemed like a godsend.

"It was the Director who brought us the first body. It was a woman, her neck broken. He told us that she'd died in a carriage accident, nothing that he could have stopped, but there wasn't a mark on her other than that. I tried to say something, but somehow I couldn't. I'd forgotten." His voice went reedy and trilling, an eerie mockery. " _Always and forever, for the sake of your sister, you will help me._ "

Silence again. Parker's hand clenched reflexively on the cloth over his heart. "I forgot I was a man. I thought I was God, and to sacrifice the lives of the dirty and the poor and the useless…it was nothing. They would die anyway. Now their deaths were at least for a good cause. It helped that I had never actually seen an extraction."

Elizabeth had gone white as snow. Her lips moved around the word, soundless, thoughtful.  _Extraction_. Ciel had a sick feeling he knew exactly what Parker was talking about, but he still said it. "The soul extractions."

"For the automata," said Parker, and closed his eyes. "I started helping with the cutting in December. There was a girl, on Christmas Day…she was so terrified. A whore Cutter had tracked down. She was Felicity's age. She fought it, and I watched the Director suck the soul out of her. It was thin and pale and…and  _gleaming_ , like silver, and Cutter was laughing and something in my head…the fire was gone all of a sudden. I could see again, and I felt sick. I snapped out of it. I came to. I don't know how to describe it. But I've been trying to find a way to break this deal ever since." He shook his head, almost wry, but with a hint of bitterness to it. "I haven't had much luck. I've tried almost everything. Haven't had a speck of luck since my mother died. Not even those bastards that work for the Queen could help me."

The whole room went stiff. Ciel looked at Sebastian, Sebastian looked at Parker, and Parker looked at Elizabeth as she stood up, her needles and cloth slipping down her skirt to the floor. "I have to go check on Rebecca," she said, and then left the room with such an expression that no one followed her, not even Parker.

Parker waited until the door had closed and they could hear the soft murmur of feminine voices from the other side of the wall before he looked at Sebastian, tilting his head just a bit. "I thought you might be able to do something for me. You might know something."

"I know little about the wiles of fallen angels, I'm afraid."

"For everything the Director's said about you, you're not what I thought you'd be."

"I am what I need to be, Mr. Parker. Nothing more or less."

Parker shook his head. "You're Ramiel's antithesis. You're his anathema. He despises you."

"Fascinating." Ciel let his lip curl. "Can we move on? The automata attacked you, Parker, so I assume you won't be welcome back at headquarters."

"As unbelievable as it may seem, there are limits to how traitorous I can be before I get kicked out of the club, and searching for...well. I guess you could say I took a step too far." He shrugged. "The Zodiac cut its ties with me before I could finish my project, and that's a problem that I need to mend. I just want my sister out, Phantomhive, that's all." He smiled then, and it was the same smile from Rebecca's birthday party, long and thin and cunning. Parker was still Parker. His sob story didn't change that. "And it seems to me that we might be able to make a deal."

Ciel made a sharp gesture with one hand. "Get on with it."

"I'll tell you everything else I know about the society, about the Director, about all the research I've been doing about demons and fallen angels and deals. You just get Felicity out safely, give her back to me and let us leave without trouble, and I'll give it to you. All of it. Backgrounds on the Zodiac, the Director's abilities, everything. You might even find some of it useful."

"You and your sister have been at the heart of this whole conspiracy. You out of all of the Zodiac should be the one to be brought to justice."

"The Director said he called us his Zodiac because we were his guardians, the same way the spirits of the Zodiac protect the mantle of the sky, but that wasn't all of it. He has certain things he wants us to do; we have certain traits that he likes." He jerked his chin towards Sebastian. "Your demon will know what I'm talking about. He made me Skorpios for a reason. I'm his scorpion. He always expected me to sting him in the heel eventually." Parker stood, gritted his teeth for a moment, and flexed his hand rather than touch his bandaged shoulder. "It happened a little earlier than either of us expected, I think, but he knew. He knew, and he still let me into some of the deepest parts of his plan, because he couldn't help it. He needed my support more than he cared about my betrayal. That's the sort of creature he is. If you want to take him down, Phantomhive, you're gonna to need more than your demon's past and your own suppositions. You're gonna need me. And you know it."

* * *

 

She had an intense moment of déjà vu when Phillips entered the drawing room, bobbed down into a small curtsy, and said, without looking up, "Letter for you, Miss Elizabeth." It was as though none of it had ever happened—as though she was still the girl from all those months ago, the one that had leaped at the chance to work with Ciel, the one that had brazenly rushed into the Beddor house, demanding attention, snooping and prying and not realizing what would happen because of it.

Elizabeth took it off of the tray without looking up from  _Paradise Lost_ , the pages thin and delicate between her fingertips. She'd been reading it every chance she could grasp since Ciel had given it to her, trying to wrap her head around the ideas, the phrases, the lyricism. Words stuck in her mouth and begged to be spoken. When she was certain she was alone in the house she read it aloud to herself. Now, though, she was in company, and she was being incredibly rude as it was. Thankfully her mother had taken over the situation and her temporary lapse in politeness had been…well, not  _overlooked_ , per se, but…ignored for the moment.

It was distracting her from everything, anyway. All of the new information tumbling around in her head was put on hold when she turned to the book. She turned to the cover, tracing her fingertips over the inscribed message. _Our state cannot be severed; we are one/one flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself._   _With all my love._  To Vincent, from Rachel. She could almost feel her aunt's arms around her when she held this book in her hands.

It kept her from thinking overly much, too: about Rebecca, about Jerusalem, about the Director, about the Parkers. Theodore had elected to stay in the Phantomhive house. She wasn't envying any of the servants in that house for having to deal with Theo and Ciel under the same roof. She wondered if they were getting along, and then threw that thought right out of her head.  _No point in wondering about the impossible._ Especially when she only had until the coming Saturday to break it to her parents that she was leaving on the Orient Express.

Colleen knew already. There was no point in keeping it from her, and there was no way Elizabeth was going to leave without her. The Irish girl deserved to be there at the end, and something in her was whispering that this was the end. This was the climax, the cresting point of the story, and the train could lead to peace or hell.

There was something in the envelope. It shifted as she closed her book, a weight that made her blink and look at it in confusion. Mama turned to her and tilted her head. "What do you have there, Lizzy?"

"A note." She recognized the handwriting. Elizabeth could feel her mouth going dry as she stood, and closed the envelope into her book. "I apologize; I have to excuse myself for a few minutes. I'll be back."

Frances gave her a look that said she'd  _better_  be. Elizabeth forced a wary smile, curtsied to the room—one of the Society boys that had been after her since the broken engagement bowed back to her, a flirty smirk on his mouth—and she bolted up the stairs.

She made sure to lock the door to her room before taking her penknife and slitting the envelope open.

The weight turned out to be a key, about as long as her pinky finger, long enough for a closet or a door or a trunk or anything, really. It was fairly nondescript, with no seal or marking to differentiate it from any other key she knew of, and Elizabeth frowned at it for a moment. She set it aside, something to be solved later.

The paper was cheap and torn at one edge; maybe the inner lining of a book, or a private diary, she wasn't sure. Elizabeth unfolded the paper, carefully, and wondered—was the sickly sweet smell only her imagination, or had Lau's opium clung to this page, as sure as a caterpillar to a stalk?

_I believe you owe me a favor, Miss Lizzy Phantomhive. I'm afraid this one has two parts. Keep an eye on this for me for now. I'll contact you soon._

He'd used a calligraphy brush, and in the lower left-hand corner, his name sprawled in supple elegance against the page. Elizabeth ground her teeth, crumpled the page, and threw it into the empty grate, staring at the key on her desk. It really was quite ordinary, simple and clean. Knowing Lau, it opened a lock that was anything but.

 _I owe him_. And she knew it, and he knew she knew it, and Elizabeth snarled a curse under her breath before fishing the note out of the fireplace and locking it in her Chinese puzzle box. The key went onto a ribbon long enough to hide under the collar of her blouse. Elizabeth let out a short breath, checking her reflection in the mirror. Nina had had to redesign all of her clothes after the mansion incident; the scar left behind by Felicity's blade had made shoulder-bearing dresses impossible, unless she wanted to concoct some sort of terrible story for the reason she had a sword-gash on her shoulder.

She pinched her cheeks, bit her lips once or twice, put a smile on her face, and marched back downstairs. The key was bitter cold against her skin.

_Into the breach._


	33. His Cousin, Preparing

Spinning. All of it was spinning and she could barely cling on. Her world was spinning again and she could feel the nausea in her belly as her arms spiraled away like kites and her legs cracked and shattered and turned to dust. She swallowed air and she was drowning in it. She was blind and the world was swallowing her whole and spitting her back up, Jonah and the whale, she was Ahab with his harpoon and she was Ishmael clinging to Queequeg's coffin as the waves tried to tear her apart.

Falling and spinning and trembling down the stairs, and she clenched her hands into fists around the blankets as the fever pounded in her throat. The girl was coming back, the broken girl, and her hand fumbled and knocked a glass to the ground. It exploded in a shower of crystal as she wrenched open the drawer, panicking, her head pounding. The girl was coming back and the girl  _couldn't_  come back, not now, not ever again, because the girl was weak and useless and boring.

It was her last forgetting vial, and she looked at it, holding it up to the light. The length of her little finger, made of crystal, the drug black as pitch with smoky opium and blood. His blood, the same blood that she'd had nearly every day of her life after she'd been thrust out of the window by her furious father, his hands clenching like claws around her shoulders as he pushed and pushed and pushed and the world shattered around her as the ground came up sickeningly fast.  _Why_ , she'd cried,  _why me_ , but that wasn't her answer. It was  _why him_  and  _how could he_  and  _why would he_  and  _where is Mama_  and  _Mama is dead_. It was  _you are not my daughter_ and  _where did you come from_ and  _you are his bitch_ and  _if I can't kill that monster I might as well take away his favorite toy_.

She uncorked the bottle and the smell of it bit at her nose. She hated it. It tasted worse. She hated the taste too, but it kept the girl away, and so she’d been taking more of it lately, more and more, trying to keep the girl down, but she _wouldn’t_ stay down, she wouldn’t go away. She was going mad and the girl was going madder and she couldn’t keep her away with anything but the forgetting vials. That was all that mattered. He was the one who mattered, and what he needed was good men. She was his link to the living world; she was his weapon. She had nothing to lose except him, because he was everything. She had everything to gain.

 _Good men are hard to find, Felicity, my dear. I must have good men_. He needed good men for their souls; bright and beautiful, glimmering at the edges of her vision, tarnished, sometimes, but always with that sheen of gold. The cook in the basement had had that sheen. The butler in her cupboard. "Butler in the cupboard," she whispered, and laughed. Then she looked at the vial and said, "I need more." They would have to track down more opium somehow. She would hire someone. Make one of the automata do it. They had more human looking models on the racks downstairs.

 _They're alive when it happens, Miss Parker. They're awake. They have to be, for the extraction to take place. They're caught somewhere between alive and dead and they_ feel _it as their soul is ripped away by that Director of yours. If they feel like it, they cut people up to see how they work, too. Did your brother ever tell you_ that _?_

She needed the forgetting. She needed to lose the girl because the girl just dragged her back into yesterday. Ramiel needed her. She needed Ramiel. There should be nothing else to care about. But the Watchdog had sunk his claws into her mind and she couldn't get it out of her head, the words, the pain. The Middleford bitch staring down at her and then stepping away.  _Should have ended it when she had the chance._  Theo's face when he'd been turned away.  _Always knew she was trouble_.

 _Forget, forget, forget._ Her voice echoed. "The tumult and the shouting dies, the captains and the kings depart; still stands thine ancient sacrifice, a humble and a contrite heart." Mama had always read poetry to the girl who should have died. The mad, mad girl who wanted to be dead. The girl with the vial in her hand and the cripple in her head.

She drank it. It tasted like glass in her eye and metal in her back and a hand passing over her forehead as blood dripped down through her lips.  _Live, my sweet one. Live, my child. Live._

Felicity opened her eyes.

"Ma'am." It was one of the servants, she wasn't sure which one. The woman hesitated in the door frame, almost cowering, her eyes so wide Felicity could swear she saw behind them, into the woman's brain. "It's almost time to leave. Are you ready?"

She looked at the woman curiously, and then down at the vial in her hand. Without a word, she dropped it, and it shattered against the floor, a last oozing drop of the black liquid staining the wood. Then she looked up at the maid again, and swept by her without another glance.

Downstairs, the Director was waiting for her.

* * *

 

Elizabeth was packing some of Edward's stolen clothes under the petticoats in her suitcase when her mother opened the door.

It had been a while, she realized, that she'd seen her mother that angry. Frances' lips were pursed into the thinnest of lines; her long pale hair was pulled back into a tight stern braid, pinned to the back of her head, and her dress, which was gray-blue, like a stormy ocean, was about as tight as the corset beneath. It was also elegant as anything Elizabeth had ever seen, and she bit her tongue.

"The party," she said, and her mother let out a breath through her nose, like a bull preparing to charge.

"The party," Frances said, and closed the door behind her. Her voice was very quiet and even. She was at her most furious, and thus her most dangerous. "In three hours, Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Middleford, we are supposed to be attending a party hosted by the St. Claire family. It is a miracle that you were invited, considering some of your most recent behavior. This party has the possibility of allowing you to regain your place in society, and three days ago I could swear I watched you write your acceptance and set it in the post to be delivered." Her mother took two steps, placing herself squarely in the middle of the carpet, her spine razor straight, prepared for battle. "So might I ask, my delightfully headstrong daughter, what precisely you are doing?"

"Packing," said Elizabeth, and put another pair of trousers in the box. Paula had gone downstairs with a headache. For once, she was glad the maid wasn't there. When her mother was in a temper, it was best to keep Paula out of the way.

"For what?" said Frances, and her voice was light, almost cheerful, if it weren't for the frighteningly cold look in her eyes.

"A trip."

"And might I ask who has invited you upon this trip?"

She couldn't exactly say Theodore Parker. She couldn't remember what she'd told her parents about the investigation. She had to have told them something, but trying to keep track of all of the things she'd been keeping secret had made keeping track of the things she'd told the truth about very difficult. Finally, she broke down. "I invited myself. It's the end of it, Mama. Once this is finished, the whole thing should be over."

"Is my nephew—" even that term sounded difficult. Frances paused for a moment. "Is my lord Phantomhive planning to accompany you, Elizabeth?"

"I expect so." She knew so, but there was no point in provoking her mother more. Mama was already furious enough. Sure enough, at Lizzy's words, her nostrils flared dangerously, but for a long moment, all she did was watch Lizzy pack.

"How long do you propose this trip will take?"

This was not what she'd expected. Elizabeth looked up from her crinolines. Frances was watching her, quite carefully. Finally, hesitantly, Elizabeth said, "That depends on how long the train ride will last."

"I see."

Her mother was being very quiet. It was more frightening than if she'd come in here, guns and swords blazing, tied Lizzy up, and locked her in the closet until it was time to attend the party. Lizzy glanced at the door, and through the crack, she could see Soma peering at them, shamelessly eavesdropping. She had no doubt that Edward was out there too, his back against the wall. And Colleen. Then again, she'd invited Colleen to come with her. There would have been no way to make it out of the house without her, and besides, she wasn't about to embark on this last journey without the Irish girl and her blades at her side. The whole house was probably hanging on baited breath, waiting for one of them to move. At her throat, Lau's key rested cool and chilly against her skin.

"I wondered if it might not come to this," said Frances. Her voice was even softer now. "Were you going to sneak away in the middle of the night, Elizabeth?"

Patches of color flared hot in her cheeks. Elizabeth looked to her trunk, which was probably stuffed with more clothes than she would need for a train ride, and couldn't speak for a moment. She'd considered it. She'd even made plans for it. She had been so certain her parents would be furious, would not allow her out of the house. She'd been so focused she'd even forgotten about the St. Claire party. After a moment, she said, "Would you let me go otherwise?"

It was a challenge, a mild one, but still a deliberate challenge. She'd never challenged her mother before. Not that she could remember. The words left her lips before she realized it, and Frances looked at her, her mouth going even thinner, almost vanishing into her face. She said nothing for a long time. Then, finally, she swept across the room to the bed, and sat down, her hands fluttering a little as she collected one of Lizzy's pillows and pressed it to her stomach. Elizabeth stood, ready for battle, and waited for her response. It never seemed to come. "Mama?"

"You never did manage to catch the trick to obedience," said her mother, and she almost smiled. Elizabeth sat down beside her, keeping a hand's breadth of distance between herself and Frances, but Frances didn't seem to notice. "Do you know why you and your cousin were engaged so early? It was because we already knew, then, that Ciel would be the next Watchdog. It's always the way it is, for the Phantomhives. The position is not such a closely guarded secret as we would hope, but it is still secret enough for the title to be kept only within the family. It's why the Watchdog's always choose their wives from either within their own family, or within that of the Durless, who have been associated with the Phantomhives since the family was made landed gentry."

She looked at Elizabeth. "You know your aunt Anne never had any children. Do you know why?" She didn't wait for an answer. "There was an accident. You were too young to remember it. Anne was pregnant at the time." Frances clenched her hands tight against the pillow, drawing it close against her stomach. "Your uncle, the Baron Barnett, was killed, and your aunt miscarried. She was…unable to have children, after that. So it became necessary, though I would have…preferred it otherwise, for Ciel to be engaged to you."

She looked at Elizabeth, and with a start she realized that her mother's eyes were wet with tears. She had never seen Frances this way before. "I was born and raised among Phantomhives, Elizabeth. I knew what my duty was, and as much as I disliked the idea, I did not object to your becoming the fiancée of the next Watchdog. If my mother had not had Vincent when she did, it is more than possible that the same thing would have happened to me, with one of the lesser Phantomhive cousins. But I did not—" She faltered. "I never wanted you to be placed into that position. You were always the happiest of you and your brother. You never seemed to cry. No one upset you. You were…." Her fingers squeezed the pillow, strangling it. "You were my girl, Lizzy."

Elizabeth felt tears pressing the back of her throat. She leaned forward, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. Frances took a deep breath, and it shuddered in her ribcage, like a trapped bird. When she spoke again, her voice was steady once more. "So I trained you, and your father trained you, as best we could. I know that you did not…particularly enjoy it, but we did it so that you could protect yourself. It's clear that it's come to that, now. Earlier than I would have liked, and perhaps not in the circumstances that I would have expected, but…" Slowly, she let go of the pillow, settling it back on the bed. She did not move Lizzy's head from her shoulder. "Where are you going on such short notice?"

"To finish it." Elizabeth's voice caught in her throat, and it slipped out, smooth and cold as a fish. "Mama, there are people dead because of me. I've…" She closed her eyes. "I shot a man."

Frances stiffened. For a moment, Elizabeth thought she was going to be pushed away. Then, hesitantly, awkwardly, an arm came down around her shoulders, and for the first time in a very long time, her mother pulled her into a hug. She couldn't move for a breathless instant; then her face crumpled, and she hid in her mother's shoulder, pretending as best she could that she wasn't fighting back tears. Outside, she heard a scuffle, and a mumbled voice. Edward, pulling Soma away, she was certain. Maybe Colleen, too. She didn't much care. She sat there for what felt like an age, clinging to her mother, and Frances sat there with her in the dark for as long as it took.

Eventually, Elizabeth sat up, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her face was all blotchy, she was sure. "I'm sorry. Your dress."

"I don't care about the dress," said Frances, harsh, uncompromising. "The dress doesn't matter. I want you safe."

Lizzy shook her head. "I have to go, Mama."

"I didn't say that." Frances looked at her for a moment. Then she slipped a hand down into her pocket, and when she pulled it free, there was a little silver pistol in the palm of her hand. It was almost pretty, and while it was smaller than the one Ciel had given her, it was probably just as effective. She took Lizzy's wrist in one hand, and placed the gun in it, curling her fingers over the weapon. "You keep that. Do you understand me? You don't let that leave you, not for a second. I assume the girl is accompanying you."

"Yes." As was Ciel, Theodore, and Sebastian, but she didn't mention them. Her mother probably already new. "I'll keep it with me."

"And your blades?"

"I've packed them." Her eyes flicked to her specialty parasol, which was leaning up against the wall, looking mild-mannered and unsuspicious. "And I'll have that."

"What else?"

Slowly, Elizabeth went through some of her list with her mother. She was bringing her peppered hairpins, as well as some of the rings her father had had made for her, the ones with poisoned needles hidden inside. She only had one of her bladed fans left, and she doubted she'd need it, but she'd tucked it in between her petticoats anyway. She also showed Frances the gun she'd used to kill Petrovsky, and though her mother sniffed, she made no real comment. She was methodical in her explanation, and as she spoke, and argued with her mother about battle plans, she heard the door finally creak open and Colleen crept in to join them, settling in a nearby armchair with her feet tucked up under her, simply listening. When her mother was finally finished with the interrogation, she stood up, and cleared her throat. It was as though she'd never reacted at all.

"Well," she said, and there was a sudden awkward pause. Her eyes cut to Colleen, and she cocked her head. "You remember what I told you?"

"'course," said Colleen, and not for the first time, Lizzy was out of her depth. She looked from her mother to Colleen to her mother again, confused, but Frances had already sniffed in approval and turned back to her.

"Remember not to scratch yourself with those rings. I'll inform the St. Claires that you are indisposed, try to keep news from getting out as long as possible. And tell that boy—" She took a breath. "Tell my nephew to be careful."

Elizabeth nodded. A hand pressed against her cheek, and to her astonishment, her mother stepped forward and kissed her forehead, lightly. The touch was dry as bone. With a cough, Frances stepped away, and she left without a goodbye. Her eyes hurt, and Elizabeth blinked furiously, absolutely refusing to start crying again.

Colleen caught her attention, and said, "D'you really need that many clothes for a train?"

Elizabeth scowled at her, and then went back to her trunk to pack the damn thing properly.

* * *

 

The trip to Paris didn't take as long as she thought it would. Elizabeth and Colleen went on their own, and when they crossed the Channel, Elizabeth wondered if Colleen was going to have a heart attack. She had never really explained how she'd managed to come to be in London when she'd grown up so clearly in Ireland, but the water clearly bothered her, and she spent most of the time in the cabin. Elizabeth waited at the railing, watching as England disappeared behind them, and for the first time, the idea of the Orient Express felt real enough to touch.

They caught a train from Calais to Paris. She wondered, watching Colleen keep her eyes on the window, if this had been what it was like for her father, when they'd first left London for their long trip: watching as an eager child buzzed with excitement, spinning like a top, laughing when nothing was funny. Then again, she'd been throwing a fit at the time, and hadn't paid much attention to the landscape. Besides, Colleen was, if anything, still as a china doll as she watched the world fly by. She'd never left Britain, Elizabeth realized. She would have had no opportunity, no way of doing so, especially if Ciel hadn't pulled her out of the whorehouse. In fact, she might have even been dead by now if she'd stayed. The thought made her feel sick.

Paris was worlds away from London, it seemed. It felt purer. She wasn't sure why. She was a bit out of practice with French, but she knew enough to make her way around the train station. Colleen watched with eyes as wide as plates as Elizabeth haggled a ticket for the pair of them on the Orient Express. There were still a few first class tickets left, and it was still only Friday. They would have to find somewhere to lodge for the night, if Ciel and Sebastian weren't already here. Elizabeth looked down at her trunk, uncertain. She should be able to check it into the Orient Express already, but that all depended on where Ciel was.

 _To hell with Ciel,_ she thought, abruptly angry, and checked the trunk. She had a small briefcase with necessary things anyway. Elizabeth kept her hand tight around the handle of her trick parasol as two men lugged the thing away. She hoped that the fake name on the lid would help keep the remainder of the Zodiac from searching it.

When she told the man the fake name she'd settled upon—Madeleine Hawthorne, a name she'd often used in her travels with her father—the ticket man blinked and gave her a wide smile, showing off two missing teeth. " _Un message_ ," he said, and he poked an envelope through the grate. " _Pour vous, mademoiselle_."

" _Un message_?" she repeated, but then she looked down. Ciel's handwriting peered at her from the paper. She was quite certain she'd never told Ciel about her identity as Madeleine Hawthorne. _So how in blazes—_

Sebastian, she thought. Sebastian would know. She took the envelope.

She still had a handful of money from the last time she'd been through Paris, and she gave him the ticket fare, plus a few more bills for keeping the message. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What'd he say?" asked Colleen, tugging at her sleeve, but Elizabeth shook her head, tearing the envelope open, peering at the card inside. There were only a few lines, and those were in French. Of course. She turned, and waved her hand, hailing a taxi.

"We're going to the Champs-Élysées."

Sebastian was waiting for them under the statue of Napoleon Bonaparte, dressed like a musician again. He had a violin case at his feet, and he was busking. Elizabeth was surprised no one had run him off yet. There was a small crowd of people gathered around him, listening as the notes—a rushing, rolling stream of them, something tense and violent hidden in the music—spiraled away into the Parisian air. There were a few women giving him definite looks. Elizabeth fought the urge to wrinkle her nose as she and Colleen took their places at the edge of the crowd. Colleen's fingers pressed absently into her skirt as she watched, copying the patterns of Sebastian's as he picked out the notes, and Elizabeth wondered if Colleen had ever had musical training. Somehow, she doubted it. Finally, the final soaring note echoed into silence, and applause—some polite, some fervid—echoed around them. Elizabeth put her hands together twice, and then leaned against the statue and waited as Sebastian collected the money thrust at him and closed the violin back into its meager case.

"Mademoiselles," he said, and bowed to them both. Colleen blinked at the courtesy, as though she'd expected something else. "It's good that you've arrived."

"I didn't expect you to be out here," said Elizabeth, and it was true. At the very least she'd expected some guile, maybe a lesser servant, not Sebastian Michaelis. But he only smiled one of his secret smiles.

"I volunteered, mademoiselle." He bowed, deeply. "The young lord will be pleased to know you have arrived."

"Where are we going?"

"Not far," said Sebastian, and he inclined his head. "If you like, I shall lead the way."

There wasn't much choice in that. Elizabeth nodded once, sharply, and stepped aside to let him pass.

He was right, it wasn't all that far. A few winding streets down from the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, they came upon a small townhouse. Ivy crawled up the side. It was exactly the sort of place that she loved, and she wondered if it had been Ciel's choice, or her uncle's, years ago. It looked like it had been around for a while, the ivy left to grow wild, untouched by time or human care. Sebastian unlocked the door, and then stepped aside to let them pass, his violin still held tightly in one hand.

It looked like an artist's boardinghouse, only without the artists. Or the boarders. Elizabeth could smell paint and old paper, ink and resin from the bow of a violin. That might have just been Sebastian's case, though. The wallpaper was new, a clear creamy yellow, and light flooded the entrance hall from the window in the door. It felt fresh and clean and  _real_ , and she wondered how long it would take for the Phantomhive shadow to steal that away.

It only took a few seconds. Elizabeth heard the servant's bell ringing before she realized what it was; a steady, angry tinkling that was muffled by a few sets of doors and a wall. Sebastian blinked, and then bowed. "Excuse me, Miss Middleford, but I must attend upstairs. It would do me great honor if you could wait in the parlor."

With that abrupt dismissal—certainly much more abrupt than Sebastian's usual smooth style—he vanished up the stairs. Colleen relaxed a bit as soon as the ringing stopped, and peered at the mirror on the wall, studying her face. "It's cleaner than air."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Whoever owned this house before must have taken very good care of it."

"It used to belong to a rag-tag artist," came a voice, and Theodore popped his head out of the dining room. He looked grouchy, his face drawn and thinner than she remembered. "He bolted the instant we knocked on his door. Apparently he was supposed to keep an eye on it for the brat, not slather paint all over the walls."

There was no paint on the walls now. Elizabeth hesitated, looking at him. "How—"

"The brat—Phantomhive is fine, the trip was fine, all of it was  _fine_ , so—"

"I was going to ask," she interrupted, her voice drawn tight with irritation, "about your shoulder. If you'd rather not talk about it, then I'll go upstairs and leave you alone."

Parker blinked at her. Then the lines around his mouth softened a bit, and his eyes flickered to the window. "Better than it could be. If you don't want to wait in the parlor, there's bread and cheese and things in the kitchen. Scale-boy's been keeping an eye on it."

Snake was here, then. Colleen made a funny squawking noise in the back of her throat, and mumbled something about the parlor before bolting up the stairs. A few seconds later, they heard Sebastian's soft voice, and a door slammed. She must have found the guest room then. Elizabeth had almost forgotten her companion's horror of snakes.

"Come on," said Theodore, and moved to offer his arm. It was his bad one, though, and he winced. She pretended she hadn't noticed, keeping her hands to herself. "This way."

The kitchen was small, but dried herbs hanging from the roof gave it a pleasant, spicy smell, and one of the windows was open, letting in a shaft of pure sunlight. The walls in here hadn't been painted-over; there were sprays of blue, of yellow and green, but mostly red coated the walls. Parker saw her eyes wandering and said, "This was the only room left alone. The demon must like it or something."

Abruptly, she thought of blood spraying the wall, and the thought made her feel sick. She looked down at the hard wood table again, and wondered at the cracks in it. It was as weathered as though it had been left outside for a decade. Maybe it had been. She wasn't used to homespun furniture like this, not in nice houses like this one; the person who had owned the place must have been some sort of eccentric.

Something brushed against her ankle, cool and tentative, and she jumped a bit before she looked down and realized there was a viper curled around her ankle. Theodore watched as she crouched, putting her arm down for Emily. She was surprised the snake had even come near her; Emily had never been really friendly, nor did she seem to like anyone very much. This was probably a Snake-ordered investigation. "Hello, snake."

"Scale-boy said you kept that thing with you the whole time you were in Dorking," Theodore said abruptly, and when she looked up at him, Emily slid into her sleeve. The touch of scales on her skin made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, but she stood perfectly still, waiting for Emily to settle herself before standing again.

"I kept her in my dress."

She wasn't sure if the best description for Theodore's expression was awed or sickened. Probably a mixture of both. "Even when—"

She gave him a bland look. "You said there was cheese."

She was fairly certain that if her mother caught her doing this, Frances would give her a lecture that would last all the way to Istanbul, but at the same time, she didn't mistrust Theodore. Not overly much. She would have had to have been a fool to think that he wouldn't turn his back on all of them if he had a chance to get away with his sister in tow, but for now, they were allied. It made sense to at least pretend to get along with him. Though she would be lying if she said she was actually pretending overly much.

There was, indeed, cheese, a soft French cheese that she hadn't had since she'd last been through Paris, and bread that she could have sworn was still warm. There was also ham and a handful of fruits and vegetables, which helped her stomach stop gnawing on itself and calm down. She had been too nervous to eat on the overnight train from Calais, so the last thing she'd had was a cup of tea before getting on the ferry across the channel. Upstairs, floorboards creaked, and she was certain she could hear the sound of voices. Probably Ciel and Sebastian. "Where's Snake?"

"He was in here the last I saw him." Theodore shrugged. "Actually, he might have gone outside. He said something about wanting to go outside."

She looked at him for a moment. "If I ask how your stay at the Phantomhive house was, are you going to bite my head off?"

"The brat—" He stopped, and then started again. "Phantomhive and I do not seem to be the most apt pairing of housemates in the world."

"Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't try to escape."

"Who says I didn't?" He broke off a bit of bread, smeared cheese over it, and ate it. "It wasn't  _my_ decision to be fostered by a toymaker. I said I would give you information, not become your pet scorpion."

She shrugged a bit and picked up a cherry tomato from a bowl on the table, rolling it between her fingers. There was a pattern engraved on the table that caught her attention; a carved set of initials.  _R.D.P._ Her hand went still. "Are you certain it was just an artist who lived here before?"

"Absolutely. He nearly wet himself when the demon unlocked the door."

She traced the initials with a forefinger.  _R.D.P._  Rachel Durless Phantomhive. Even if it had been a painter, she was quite certain this had been a Phantomhive house for longer she had been alive. After a moment, she pressed her palm flat over the carving, and wondered if the table had been Aunt Rachel's choice. It felt like something she might do.

It was like the little house in Oxford. She wondered if she would find any more relics of the past here, or if it had been completely replaced by the artist tenant.

"What was your mother like?" she asked suddenly, and Theodore looked at her with such a strange expression that she felt instantly guilty for even thinking about asking. Then he took a breath.

"Why do you ask?"

"I've been thinking about what you told us." She had been thinking about the Director, mostly, and his request.  _If you truly love someone, you should understand._

Then another phrase popped into her head, the Director, a strange smile on his lips.  _I fell because of him, you know. I fell from a very great height._

"I was thinking," she said again, and then added, "And I just…I wondered, that's all. You don't have to answer. It's a strange question." And she was in too frank a mood to bother with the impropriety of it, either. She was tired from the trip, still raw from her encounter with her mother, and really didn't care about much else than finishing all this. She was done with dancing. "What was her name?"

"Olivia." His eyes still lingered on her for a second before he picked a grape from the bowl and rolled it absently between his fingers, mimicking her without thought. "I haven't thought about it in a while. I was fourteen when she died."

"You said that." She paused. "You said you were alone in the house…?"

"Felicity was visiting a friend. She was a few hours away and didn't make it back in time. Our father was away on business like always." Theodore took a breath. "The Director was there, though. I don't count him, though. He was always there, then. He barely ever left the west wing. That was where he lived, you know, away from the rest of us. My mother used to…visit him every day. My father didn't like him in the house, but he refused to leave, and she convinced Father to leave him be. He was different then, I suppose you could say. Not very much, but he wasn't as…"

 _Cold_. The word sprung to her lips and then away. She had no business saying it. She had no idea if she was right, anyway. Theodore rolled the grape again, and then set it down onto his plate, staring at it as though it were an egg about to hatch some hateful thing.

"She was like an eggshell," he said. "She was strong in some ways, but if you tried, you could break her so easily. She…there are flash floods where we live, pretty frequently. The Director—Felicity called him Riel at the time, and I don't remember any particular name I had for him—had gone out. It was one of the few times he did. And then it started raining, very hard, and my mother went into a panic. She went out to find him, and we found her the next morning, shivering under some scrub. She caught pneumonia." His voice was hard. "The Director came back four days later with no clue what had happened. It took her months to die."

It was a horrible story. She didn't quite know what to say to it, other than  _I'm sorry_ , and she could remember the instant pain that those words could bring on when one was thinking about family. She had hated people apologizing for her aunt's death, as though they could have done something about it. The only person who had come up to her, at the funeral, and apologized like they had meant it, as though it was necessary, was Ciel.

She shook that memory away, looking up at the ceiling again. When she looked down again, Theodore was watching her. It was almost as though he was seeing two things at once; as though he was looking at her, but also as though he was staring at something far away, something he couldn't quite understand.

"Even with what I do know about the Director, there's still a lot of things about him that I don't…" He shrugged. "I suppose you could say he kept his secrets well. I still don't know what it is he wants with the souls he takes. He couldn't really care less about the automata. It's their souls he wants, in their little metal shells. He wants as many as he can get, but only specific types. I don't know why he needed us; he could have just gone and taken souls on his own. He didn't need to contract with me, or pull the Zodiac in around him. He could have just vanished, after Mother died. He could have gone off on his own and done it much faster."

In spite of herself, Elizabeth's eyes dropped to his chest, where she knew the silver mark was hiding under the shirt and waistcoat. It had been a shock to see it on his skin during the back room stitch-up with Rebecca lying unconscious in the corner. She hadn't expected it, still didn't know what it meant. "Maybe he didn't feel like he could do it on his own."

Theodore shook his head, not necessarily in contradiction, but in thought. "Maybe. I don't know." There was a pause. "I don't think it was the Director who sent the automata after us in London."

Elizabeth blinked. "But you said—"

"The Director knew I would betray him. That's part of the reason I can't work out why he contracted with me in the first place. But he didn't think it would be now. There was no reason for him to have sent the machines after us." Theodore frowned. "The only other people who would have been able to control the automata would be Cutter and Shirakawa, and I know for certain that Shirakawa wouldn't do it. The man has no particular grudge against me."

"Cutter was the one commanding them, then," Eilzabeth said, and Theodore nodded. "But why?"

"Cutter is a worm," said Theodore, and there was a low tone in his voice that she almost recognized. It sounded like violence. "He's obsessed with my sister, obsessed with pleasing her. I think he thought it would make her happy, pulling a thorn from the Director's side. It's the only explanation I can think of."

Elizabeth couldn't quite think of anything to say to that. Suddenly Emily moved again, making her jump. She'd almost forgotten the snake was there. The viper peeped out of Lizzy's collar, turning her triangular head towards the side door, and in the next instant it opened, revealing Snake on the threshold, dirt smudged on his frighteningly pale cheek, his silver hair bright as a coin in the sunlight. He blinked at her, and then a shy smile pulled at his lips.

"Hello, Snake," she said, and put a hand up to her collar, so that Emily could slide free. The viper did so instantaneously.  _So she_ was  _just keeping an eye on me._  "You look better."

"Thank you," he said, in a soft voice. "Says Dante."

Theodore looked from her to Snake curiously. He couldn't hide the expression on his face when Snake turned, though, and more light flashed off of the scales on his cheek. Elizabeth's lips tightened, and then she stood, and handed the viper back to its proper owner.

"Mr. Parker said there's a garden. Can you show me? I'd like to at least get a good look at it before we leave tomorrow morning."

He nodded, and without looking back at Theodore, Elizabeth shut the kitchen door quietly behind them. Being out in the garden helped soothe her nerves, especially after the story about Theodore's mother. It was only once she'd quizzed Snake about everything in the garden—which, to her surprise, he seemed to know a good bit about, despite only having been here since the evening before—that she looked up at the house again, and saw Ciel watching them from a second story window. For a second, she almost thought she saw his mouth quirk up into half a smile. Then he pressed his hand against the window, and vanished back into the house, and she turned quickly back to Snake, trying to pretend that her heart wasn't trembling in her throat.


	34. His Cousin, Organizing

She couldn't sleep. The bed creaked every time she rolled over, and the house moaned unendingly, unnervingly, as though it was trying to talk to her. She'd left the curtains open, so she could look out at the moon, and in the distance she could see the new tower, the one that had been completed just last year—or had it been the year before?—just in time for the World's Fair. She thought they called it the Eiffel Tower. It looked very strange on the horizon.

Colleen lay next to her, her back turned to Elizabeth, facing the door. She wasn't sure if the other girl was awake or asleep; it had been a long time since either of them had even sighed, but she rather thought Colleen was too still and too quiet to be sleeping. The weight of tomorrow was too heavy.  _The Orient Express, the last of the Zodiac, and the Director._ And then what? There was no guarantee that either of them would come back alive, or even uninjured. Considering what had happened in the basement of the manorhouse, she had every reason to imagine that none of them would. She wondered how many automata would be lying in wait in the train. She wondered where Felicity was, and the Director, because they had to be in Paris; they were catching the same train tomorrow, and even if they'd scoured the passenger list and found no trace of a Parker, she was quite certain that they would be there. Down the hall was Theodore's room, and just beyond that, Ciel's; for a moment, she wondered what would happen if she went down and knocked, and then the blood rushed to her face and she threw that image out of her head. It would be highly improper, and besides, she would be able to speak to him in a few hours. She still wasn't sure what she could even say, though.

 _Stop thinking about this._  She sounded like a fluttery child.  _I'm not that girl anymore._ For the first time, it didn't feel like she was lying to herself. She wasn't Little Lizzy anymore, and no matter how she felt now, she wasn't about to let it distract her from the work.

After this, though, if she survived, she still wasn't certain what she would do. She was going to go to India with Paula and Michael, she was certain of that already. And Colleen, she thought, glancing at the other girl. Colleen and Soma, incredibly, had become friends. She hadn't spoken to Soma about visiting Bengal yet, but she was certain that he would agree to all of them when she did.

Not  _if_ she did,  _when_ she did, because she was refusing to allow herself to consider anything else.

They had a plan, as basic as it was. They would wait to confront the Director until they were certain that Felicity would be out of play. That had been Theodore's one demand, after all. As much as he seemed to enjoy driving Ciel crazy, keeping his sister safe was the only reason he was staying with them. It was only once they'd all agreed to leave Felicity to Theodore that he'd begun to explain what else he knew, slowly and steadily throughout the afternoon, his eyes never leaving the window and the sunlight outside. She hadn't been able to break the silence.

The Director would be staying with Felicity and Cutter. He didn't eat, not really, but he would put in a few appearances in the dining car so he could keep an eye on the rest of the passengers. "He gets bored easily," Theodore had said. "He'll be focused certainly, but he doesn't like traveling or sitting still for too long. He'll wander, and that'll be our chance."

He went over the Director's abilities, too: at least, he went over the ones he knew about. He talked about speed and strength, about hypnotic eyes and persuasive abilities. It sounded as though he was describing Sebastian, and it was unnerving. The automata wouldn't attack until they were commanded. Since their souls had been imprisoned, their will belonged to those who had done the imprisoning, and as of right now, that was Theodore, Felicity, Cutter, Shirakawa, and the Director. Shirakawa wouldn't fight—at least, Theodore didn't think he would—but Cutter and Felicity would. Theodore wasn't sure how far his control would extend, since he'd been missing from the Director's side for so long, but there was a chance that he could at least keep the automata off their backs if and when it became necessary.

"We'll finish this by Vienna," said Ciel, and they all agreed. From Vienna, Theodore and Felicity could vanish anywhere on the continent. As cramped as Europe was, there was a great deal of empty space between Paris and Vienna. They would succeed. She had to believe they would succeed.

The sheets itched. Finally, she snarled under her breath, and kicked the covers away, pulling on her dressing gown. She wasn't going to be able to sleep. There was no point in trying. Tying the dressing gown tight around her waist, she slipped out of the room without looking back.

Down in the kitchen, Sebastian was waiting for her.

She should have suspected it. Elizabeth looked at him for a long moment—he already had tea on the table, in a pot that was still leaking steam—and then she said, "Did you hear me come downstairs or were you going to wait with the tea until someone did?"

She thought she saw his eyes crinkle a bit, and thought she must have imagined it. The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up. She hadn't been alone with Sebastian since he'd threatened her with a knife, and the memory of that—of crimson eyes sending her into darkness, of Undertaker's whispered secrets and everything else—was making her very nervous. He rippled to his feet and bowed. "I would not be worthy of the title of butler of the Phantomhives if I did not have something prepared for the lady of the household after a sleepless night."

The lady of the household. Elizabeth gave him a sharp look. "I'm no longer Ciel's fiancée."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and looked at her in a deliberate challenge. She stood at the doorway, and wondered if she should leave. It was quite obvious that he wanted to talk to her, and no matter what she wanted to know about the investigation, she wasn't certain she wanted to return the favor.

 _Nothing ventured, nothing gained._  She steeled herself. "You hypnotized me. In the manorhouse."

Sebastian blinked. Then he laughed. It was louder than she'd expected, deeper and happier. A boyish laugh. "And for that I must apologize, Miss Elizabeth. It seemed, at the time, the only way to get everyone out without further harm."

"I was asleep for  _days._ "

He shrugged again, unrepentant. "Also necessary. Not only would you have insisted on leaving, had you been awake, you were also badly wounded, and a journey back to London without at least a day of medical care would have been highly unwise."

"And the knife?"

"A test to determine your resolve as well as your ability with a blade." He said it mildly, unapologetically, as though he'd dropped something by accident. Then he hesitated. "At the time, I had begun to feel inklings of Ramiel's presence within the country, and instincts made me behave perhaps harsher than I should have been. For that I apologize. However, I do stand by the decision, especially considering the fact that you were engaged to my master at the time. Understanding your abilities was key to understanding the level of trust that could be placed in you as a future member of the Phantomhive household. That, I will not ask your forgiveness for, Miss Elizabeth. Only your understanding if you wish to give it."

That surprised her. She blinked at him, wonderingly.  _Everything he does,_  she thought,  _he does for Ciel._  This man in front of her—a demon, she reminded herself, in the costume of a man—was going to eat Ciel's soul someday. Would Ciel die then, or would his body remain behind, a hollow husk?

That decided her. Elizabeth sat down, keeping her arms crossed tight over her chest. The floor was cold against her bare feet. Sebastian poured the tea, and she watched him carefully as he added milk and a hint of sugar before settling it in front of her, turning it so the handle faced her. Elizabeth took it, but didn't drink; instead she looked at him, and waited for him to say something. Aside from the small smile, his face was maddeningly blank.

"What are you?" She knew his answer already, could hear the Undertaker whispering it to her in an otherwise silent carriage, but she wanted it from his own lips.

"I am the butler of the Phantomhive household, my lady."

"Yes, but what  _are_ you?" She set her teacup down on the saucer. "What are you, Sebastian Michaelis?"

Silence for a moment. His smile faded, and then grew, and to her shock she realized he was showing teeth. He always smiled with his lips pressed together, as though he was hiding a secret, but now his teeth were bared. His canines were surprisingly sharp, and when she dared to meet his eyes, they were shining red.

"I am the butler of the Phantomhive household," he repeated. "I would not think of being anything else."

It wasn't much of an answer. It was the only answer she was going to get. Elizabeth looked at him for a moment longer, and then, deliberately, took a few swallows of tea. By the time she looked up again, he was the same old unruffled Sebastian, and even with his strangely colored eyes, he looked quite normal. Like a human being. He was eying her curiously, and, if she dared to say it, almost in approval, like he'd finally seen something that made sense to him.

"At the meeting today, you didn't say anything." She sipped at her tea again. "Why?"

"It did not seem to be my place to interrupt," he said, and tilted his head slightly. "Besides, I have already explained what I know to my master, and I had assumed he had discussed the situation with you."

"Not really." After all, discussion would require actual talking. Even though he'd asked her to help him, he still hadn't told her very much at all. Much of it she'd had to figure out on her own. "I can tell you one thing that Theodore doesn't know, though."

She went over what the Director had told her during the time freeze, carefully watching Sebastian's expression. It didn't flicker a bit, though she fancied his eyes might have shifted to a hue that was closer to blood than bronze as she spoke. When she finished, she sat still and silent, waiting for him to explain. After a moment, Sebastian sighed. "It was my purpose, centuries ago, to…corrupt creatures like Ramiel. I tempted him, and he fell, as he seems to put it. As you seem to have realized, he has not…forgotten that incident."

"Tempted him?" she repeated, confused. Sebastian looked at her, and remained quiet. Then in her head, the Director whispered it again.  _If you truly love someone, you should understand._ The gears creaked into motion, and she felt heat flood up her neck, her ears going hot and tingly, her eyes going wide. "You don't mean—"

Sebastian smiled. It was a secret smile, a vicious smile, one that belonged to a cat playing with a dying bird. Elizabeth gulped her tea, and nearly choked on it.

"That was many years ago now." He turned the teapot thoughtfully. "I believe it was just before the affair with Robespierre and Desmoulins, though according to Parker's story, he only appeared on this plane thirty or forty years ago. It is more than possible that he was caught Between for a century or so. No doubt it was his time there that began to eat away at his mind."

"Between?"

"Between here and there. In nothing, Miss Elizabeth, a place darker and more terrible than any of you can imagine." He paused for a moment. "I found it quite boring, to be perfectly honest."

Elizabeth bit her tongue rather than respond.

"The fact that he's been so blatant in his use of power is quite interesting. Usually one of the Fallen is unable to even sever souls, let alone create wards strong enough to force one out of this plane's dimensional restraints." He drummed his fingers on the table. "I wonder."

"What?"

Sebastian looked at her, and then leaned back, considering. "It becomes often necessary, eventually, for any…being of our stature to develop ties, to anchor us to this plane. Plane meaning world, sanctum, one of Dante's circles of hell, whatever you wish to call it. The more one is bound to, the more energy one can draw, at least, in the case of beings such as us."

"And the Zodiac are…?"

"He may not have forged deals with them, but they are bound to him in one way or another. We're quite certain of it, Miss Elizabeth."

She nearly choked on her tea again. She set the cup down. "You're being very direct."

"Of course. After all, I am almost positive that these confidences will not be spoken outside this room." That terrifying catlike smile returned, and this time she didn't know how to look away from it. It only ended when upstairs, the floor creaked, and Sebastian flowed to his feet, turning to the counter.

"The young master is awake, I believe." He turned his head just slightly, peering at her through his shaggy hair. "Do you have any other questions for me, Miss Elizabeth? We only have a few minutes before I am summoned upstairs."

She turned her teacup on the saucer, watching him thoughtfully as he collected more tea. He was on the toast and egg when she finally plucked up the courage to ask it. "If…creatures like you exist, and creatures like the Director…" She wet her lips. "Do you think…?"

"God?" said Sebastian, and Elizabeth flinched a little bit. She hadn't wanted to say it. "None of my compatriots have come close to answering that question. If a being such as that does exist, he—or she, or it, for that matter—hasn't revealed itself within living memory. And I know many who have done much to get it to reveal itself," he added, "things that I will not burden your ears with, Miss Elizabeth. I myself prefer not to debate such matters. Whether or not God is real has no bearing on my own existence. It's probably best that the creature stays out of sight. After all," he said, "if the Pope's God does exist, then my continuing to live would be quite beside the point of angels, now wouldn't it?"

He rummaged in the cabinets for a tray, and had just finished sorting out the plates and dishes for the breakfast when the bell rang against the wall. They would be leaving soon. Elizabeth stood, wrapping her arms tight across her stomach, swallowing hard.

"Does Ciel know any of this?" she croaked, once she'd managed to get a semblance of her voice back. Sebastian turned, and smiled one last time.

"I do not lie to my master."

It was only once she'd stumbled her way back upstairs to change that she realized that that hadn't been an answer.

* * *

 

It might have just been her imagination, but Lizzy rather thought the air in the train tasted like Indian spices. The last stop was hundreds of miles away from India, of course, but it didn't keep her from thinking it. It smelled like she'd stepped into the kitchen back at the Middleford House when Agni had prepared one of his curries for them, as a thank you. The scent permeated the first class car almost entirely.

Her trunk was in the sleeping compartment she'd ordered. Still, that was a few cars down from this one, an empty second-class compartment that let them stay out of sight, keep an eye on the platforms, and stay together, all at once. She would have to make do with her trick parasol, for now, at least. Next to her, Colleen pressed her fingers into Lizzy's arm, hard. "There they are."

Elizabeth peered out into the steam of the train station. There were dozens of people boarding the train for Istanbul, but her eyes clung to a taller man with dark hair and pale skin, who was helping a girl with almost-white hair up into one of the compartments. She would recognize those two anywhere, not to mention the nondescript gentleman with them. Shirakawa was nowhere to be seen. Lizzy tightened her grip on her skirt, sat back from the window, and took a deep breath.  _In and out._  Outside, the train shrilled, and then it shuddered into motion. The Orient Express was on its way to Strasbourg.

She'd studied the map pinned to the wall of the train car for a few minutes before Colleen had finally tugged her into their compartment. The Express would take them from Paris to Strasbourg, and then to Munich; from there they would go on to Vienna, and then to Budapest, then Bucharest, and then finally they would stop in Istanbul, where the train would turn around. She was absolutely certain that there would be multiple people getting on and off at each stop, and she was quite thankful that she'd managed to convince the ticket man to let them have a first class compartment with beds. She wasn't sure she would have been able to handle the trip otherwise.

Still, if the whole thing went according to plan, they should be disembarking in Munich, or Vienna at the very latest. There was no way she was going to allow the Director anywhere near his connecting train to Jerusalem. She'd kill him before that happened.

 _Not for him, you glocky haybag. For Mollie. For the Sparrow. For Rosie. For every woman Cutter ever took and every woman that the others ever stole. For everyone they ever raped and murdered. For the dead ones. For everyone those bastards ever hurt_.

She worked her gloves off, absently, and next to her, Colleen munched on toffee. She'd spotted the candy shop the instant they'd stepped out of the carriage near the train station, and before Lizzy had realized it, they'd been dragged into the shop by a surprisingly strong Colleen, who had then begun to lurk the glass counters, peering inside. Elizabeth had almost complained, too, until she'd seen the expression on Colleen's face. It was as though she'd lost ten years, and there was a child looking back at her, smiling, delighted, her eyes sparkling.

Elizabeth had given way and bought a whole damn box of toffee, along with some Turkish delight and lemon drops. Neither Ciel nor Sebastian said a word about it.

Theodore kept his hat on, the brim pulled down low over his eyes. It had been a struggle to even get him to stay in the same compartment as the rest of them, despite the rather logical idea of keeping him out of sight until they were quite certain the automata weren't on orders to murder them as soon as they stepped out of the carriage.

Quite suddenly Elizabeth felt very alone. There was no telling who was against them and who was innocent; the automata could be set up as anybody, in any compartment, stowed away until commanded to attack. Of course, they weren't even sure the Zodiac knew they were present on the train.

As though he'd heard her thoughts, Theodore grunted, sliding down in his seat like a petulant child. "You honestly don't expect me to stay in here until the middle of the night."

"You can go wait in your own compartment if you like," said Ciel, with sweet venom. "As long as you lock yourself in like a good little hostage and stay out of our way."

Theodore gave Ciel a look that, within rights, should have flayed her cousin alive. As it was, Ciel just smirked back. If this was the sort of conversation that had been taking place in the Phantomhive house over the past week, Elizabeth was very glad that she had been able to stay at home.

"If they're on board, why don't we just go and take them out now?" Colleen leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Because we don't know how many automata there are on board, Colleen," said Elizabeth, before Ciel or Theodore could respond and start another argument. It was rather like juggling a bag full of cats. "Until we do, it's best that we keep our heads down and stay out of the way."

Colleen grunted, but she settled again as the train lurched into motion. Lizzy's stomach surged.  _On our way._  Her palms were sweaty as Colleen asked, "You lot are going into the dining car, though!"

"Yes, and you're coming too, but we have to change first." Lizzy let out a breath. "We're just going to follow the plan, Colleen, all right? I'm as anxious as you, but if we don't want them to bolt, we need to follow the  _plan._ "

Calculate how many automata were on board. Distract Felicity and get her away from the Director. Elizabeth and Colleen would deal with Cutter and Shirakawa; Theodore would take his sister and disembark in Strasbourg, if they were lucky, and Munich or Vienna, if they weren't. If it ended up coming down to a fight, they would force the train to stop, or at least try. Even if it wasn't their primary concern, keeping the innocent out of harm's way was much more important than either Ciel or Theodore wanted to admit.

Elizabeth glanced at them both, and then sighed a bit. Across the compartment, Sebastian was studying a book, quite carefully, his eyes sliding from side to side as he took in the text. She wondered if he was even really paying attention to it, and not keeping an eye on all of them at once.

He'd told her much more than she'd bargained for. More than she'd wanted to know. She still wasn't sure what it meant, and she'd been thinking about it ever since stumbling back upstairs to change. The most logical reason for him revealing all of that to her, at least, in her mind, was because he had some sort of purpose for her. Whether that purpose was good or bad, she as yet had no idea, but there was a purpose, and she would be a fool of the grandest sort to underestimate the creature known as Sebastian Michaelis.

Still, if Ciel trusted him, and if Undertaker's hints were right—if Sebastian wouldn't touch Ciel, wouldn't go against his orders, wouldn't do anything until their contract was fulfilled—then…not trusting him, exactly, but perhaps extending a hand of camaraderie was not entirely lacking in common sense.

They sat together in silence for a while longer. Outside, the sun angled high over French farmland; it was aweinspiringly green, no clouds in any direction, and just like on yesterday's train, Colleen kept her eyes fixed on the world outside. Elizabeth returned to  _Paradise Lost_ , but she couldn't keep her mind on the printed word; she finally closed it and set it aside, joining Colleen in staring out at the fields.

It would be a very long time before the sun set—it was, after all, the summertime, and the sun clung to the edges of the sky for hours past dinner—but when it hit five thirty, Elizabeth steeled herself, and stood. They all turned to look at her, even Colleen, who had been jostled out of a daydream. Ciel stood, automatically.

"I'm going to change," she said, and then hesitated. "You all should too. Ciel, may I speak with you a moment?" He blinked at her, and she added, "Alone, please."

Colleen's nails bit into her fingers, but Elizabeth ignored it. She could feel Theodore watching her, and it was ruining her nerves. She kept her eyes on Ciel. He stared for a long moment, head half-tilted, considering; then he inclined his head.

"Five minutes."

* * *

 

_What does she want?_

She looked quite nervous, truth be told. Her eyes were flickering all about the compartment, and she wrung her hands just a bit, like the old Lizzy always did when she was trying to come up with something important to say. Ciel turned, and met Parker's eyes. They were quite flat, windows with the shutters pulled, but there was something in the curve at the corner of his mouth that said he didn't like this situation at all.

"Sebastian," said Ciel, "take Parker back to the sleeping compartments. And go with Colleen. We won't be long."

To his amazement, Sebastian did not obey immediately. Instead, he looked to Elizabeth, just for the scarcest moment, and he inclined his head. Elizabeth blinked in surprise, and a mixture of confusion and realization flashed across her face. It was as though he'd handed her a task, and she'd accepted it, all in silence. Then he vanished, and the door had closed behind him, and they were left standing in the rattling compartment. Ciel crossed his arms tight over his chest.

"Well?" he demanded. "What is it? We don't have much time."

"I know." She seemed to mull over something. Then she spat it out, quick and sharp. "I'm sorry."

Ciel's eye grew wide. He felt words in his mouth, dozens of them, but he couldn't seem to say them. Before he could even try, she'd barreled over him, the way she always had, overwhelming him with words. "I'm not sorry for any of this, or for trying to help, or for what happened between us, but I'm sorry for…I'm sorry for some of the things I said to you, and what I thought about you, and I'm sorry for smacking you around with an epee when I should have just…talked to you. In February, I mean. If I'd talked to you….even if you hadn't listened, it would have probably made things easier." She was babbling, picking absently at the hem of her sleeve, unable to look at him anymore. "I'm not sorry for punching you or for anything else, though. And I haven't forgiven you. I just…at the beginning, I was acting the spoiled child—I have for a long time, but still, I wanted to apologize for that."

Ciel stared at her.

"That's all I wanted to say," she ended, and turned away. "Considering…where we are, I thought it best to say it now."

February. The fencing match. Or the beat-down. Considering the outcome, he wasn't entirely certain what else to call it. A sudden, vivid memory burst inside his mind. Sebastian, offering him a small box.  _She also left you a message. Just a few words, my lord. You're still not listening._

He sat down with a  _whuff_  of air, the simplicity of it nearly knocking him off his feet. Something was bubbling in his throat. If he'd been a fool, he would have called it a laugh. As it was, Elizabeth was peering at him curiously, not dragging her gaze away the way she usually did. She cocked her head to one side. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He waved a hand. "I'm fine."

He wasn't about to apologize. Not for breaking the engagement, not for much else, either. He'd done as he'd seen fit as the Earl Phantomhive, and there was nothing else he should or could say about it in order to ease anyone's feelings, let alone his cousin's. Still, he wanted to, and that made him more than nervous. The apology was burning on his lips. Abruptly, the image of her face in the Dorking house, her eyes glassy with frustrated tears, flashed into his mind.  _I tried for_ months _to show you that I am_ not _who I was and the_ instant _it starts being inconvenient for you, you throw it all in my face, you_ break my heart _and I am_ never _going to forgive you for that, Ciel Phantomhive! Why can't you see that I am_ not _Little Lizzy anymore?_

The idea that she was a much better person than he was struck him quite suddenly. He dismissed it—in her work with Parker, she'd proven herself to be just as manipulative and angry as he was—but it lingered in the back of his mind, hiding amongst the memories of the Little Lizzy, the one who'd cried and begged and laughed and smiled and demanded his full attention, distracting him, even momentarily, from his work and the terrors that came with it. He'd never imagined marrying her—he knew in cold cruel logic that someday he would surrender his soul, and that soon, the creature known as Ciel Phantomhive would no longer exist. Somehow he'd always imagined it coming before his eighteenth birthday, and thus his wedding. It was only a few years away now.

That thought was shoved right out of his mind. He'd broken the engagement. There was nothing to be done to reverse that fact. That part of his life was over; that lifeline had been cut. And then he looked at her, and the moment crystalized very clearly in his mind. Even if he'd never imagined marrying her, never even let himself consider it, the fact remained that through everything, he had never imagined his life without her in it.

He looked at her, and said it without thinking, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, couldn't imagine saying anything else. "Elizabeth. There's nothing to forgive."

Her eyes widened. They were very green in the half-light of the compartment. They were heading through a dark copse of trees, now, and flashing between shadow and light. She took a breath, and then said, "Well. Nevertheless. I…I wanted to say it. Because it's the end."

She stood there looking at him for a moment, as though she was waiting for him to say something. Ciel looked back at her, not about to speak, just wondering what would happen now. Finally, he turned away. "We should probably catch up with the others."

"There's…something else," she said, in a curious voice. Not quite nervous, exactly, but…hesitant. It made him pause. "About Sebastian."

He froze. His whole body went icy. The tone. Her face. She knew. "You know," he said, and Elizabeth looked at him with such a mild expression he wondered if she was going to break his neck or cut his head off or both. "He told you."

"Sebastian didn’t say a thing, if that’s what you’re thinking," she said, and Ciel felt his blood freeze inside his skin. "And to be frank, even if I hadn't looked into it, it wouldn't have been that difficult to figure it out, Ciel, especially considering what the Director's been saying this whole time."

Ciel. Not  _my lord Phantomhive_. Just  _Ciel,_  as though nothing had changed. He dug his nails into the nearest thing he could reach, which turned out to be one of the seat cushions. If he clenched it any harder he would probably tear through it, but if he didn't hold onto it, he would leave the room and never come back, and he wasn't sure he could afford do that, not even now. Elizabeth worried her ticket between her fingers, tearing small pieces off and creating a mound of shreds in her lap.

"Sebastian," she said, and he almost turned before he realized that there was no way Sebastian could be inside. He'd sent the demon away, to work with Colleen. "He…he helps you?"

"He's required to."

"And he won't harm you until the contract is finished?"

"No," said Ciel. He felt mechanical. He felt like an automaton, answering her questions blankly, still scrabbling to find something else to say. "He won't."

"How long will that be?" For the first time her voice trembled, and she looked like the old Lizzy, about to cry over something so small and insignificant as a soul.

"I don't know." He wasn't breathing. His lungs were tightening. "Not until I find the man who killed my parents."

"Oh," she said, and for some reason there was almost a tone of relief, like she'd been waiting for something much worse. "Oh," she said again, and she stood and came to him and brushed her fingers against his cheek. Her palm was shockingly warm. A tear slipped down her face, and then another, and her other hand lifted and peeled the eye patch off. He didn't move to stop her. He just waited, for her to turn away, for her to say something she'd said before, like  _I won't forgive you_  and  _how could you do this to me_  and  _what will happen to you?_

All she did was lean forward and press her lips to his temple, right at the corner of the eye that held the Faustian contract.

Ciel couldn't move. There was no point. His face burned. Finally, she pulled back, stroking his jaw with her fingertips. Her eyes were red, but when she smiled, she looked like the old Lizzy. She looked like the girl that had been so precious to him he'd been willing to throw himself in front of a bear to keep her safe. Her hands slipped away, straightened his coat absently, and then she wiped the tears off her cheeks and said, "We should go. We have work to do."

His control broke. Ciel let go of the pillow, reached forward, and caught her, and she muffled a squeak of surprise as he wrenched her around. When he did, though, the only thing he could say was " _Why_?" Why was she simply moving on? Why was she not panicking? Why was she not  _reacting_? He'd imagined this more than he'd care to admit, and every time it had ended with Elizabeth vanishing from his life, hurting too much to stay nearby, chastising him, criticizing, demanding that Sebastian leave, that they find some way to break the contract. Her eyes flicked over his face, and she smiled, damply, shrugging.

"What does it matter?" she replied, and the words cracked as they came out of her mouth. She was trying so very hard not to cry. "I can't—it's done, isn't it, and there's nothing we can do, and I just…" She bit her lip, closed her eyes, took a shaky breath through her nose. "Please," she said, and it was just a whisper. "Please, Ciel. We—you have time. Just don't…please, just live as long as you can. Please."

When he took a breath, it felt like the first one in years. Ciel lifted his free hand, scraping her cheek with the backs of his fingers. When he stood up, he was of a height with her. He hadn't noticed until now, hadn't thought about it, but it had mattered so much to him before, that his fiancée had been almost a head taller than he was. Now they were even, and so close that he couldn't think. He couldn't think of anything. The train rattled under them, but it was as though they were in the middle of nowhere, in patched shadows and light, and without thinking he traced the outline of her mouth with one fingertip.

Elizabeth looked at him with widening eyes. Her lips parted. She'd bound her hair up in a simple bun for the train trip, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible, but there was a curling tendril that had escaped, and he set it between his fingers. It was like when he'd found her asleep in his armchair—this mix of shock and surprise and  _want_ that had startled him so much, unsettled him so much—and he couldn't stop.

"What are you doing?" she said, and the words were a flutter against his cheek. He hadn't realized she was that close. "Ciel."

He froze. Blood pounded in his face, his ears, his neck.  _Idiot_. Ciel dropped her wrist, and deliberately lowered both hands to his sides, clenching them into tight fists.  _Don't be a fool._  He cleared his throat, and stared at the ceiling of the carriage instead, ignoring the rocking of the train. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

Elizabeth hesitated. She began to pull away.

With a tremendous sound, a terrible harpy's screech, the train braked. Ciel stumbled. Elizabeth flew off her feet and hit him like an avalanche, a heavy foreign weight against his chest as they both stumbled back and landed awkwardly in the chairs behind. Her nails dug like needles into his shoulders. The compartment rattled, like a dried pea in a box, and then the train slowly dragged to a halt and they froze, breathing heavily, unable to move. Outside, the sun vanished. They must have gone into a tunnel.

"Ciel," Elizabeth said, and she leaned up to look at the door to the compartment as best she could, torqueing her spine under his hands. "What happened?"

She was warm, warmer than he thought she would be. He should have remembered. When they'd been together as children, tangled like puppies, he'd always curled as close to her as he could because she'd been a veritable heater in the sometime chill of the garden. Ciel remained very, very still, trying to remember what he'd been about to say. Finally, she looked down at him again, and her eyes grew wide again, surprised, maybe a little fearful.

His stomach clenched.  _She's still frightened of me._

He really shouldn't have been all that surprised after everything. She  _knew_. That was more than enough reason for anyone to be frightened. But it hurt, and the hurt was a terrible ache that seemed quite content to settle in him permanently, and for God's sake, why hadn't she scrambled off him yet?

Then she reached up, brushing her hand against his jaw, and Ciel went dead still. In her eyes, shock and fear had given way to something new. Her fingers felt like fire on the sensitive skin of his throat. Elizabeth had levered herself up onto one elbow, peering at him in the dark, and even though the stopped train should have been a major concern, Ciel couldn't bring himself to care.

She looked straight at him, level and calm, and there was the slightest of smiles on her lips. It looked regretful, almost sad, and something in him clenched at the sight. When she spoke, he could feel her breath on his mouth. "I want you to know that I—"

Without thinking, natural as breathing, Ciel leaned up and kissed her.

Elizabeth froze. Her fingers tightened against his cheek. He wasn't entirely sure, he realized, when he pulled back, what he was expecting her to do. She was wide-eyed, frozen, looking at him as though she'd never seen him before, and Ciel felt the blood rush to his face again. He felt like an idiot. He  _was_ an idiot. This was neither the time nor the place nor the circumstance. It wasn't something that should have happened, wasn't something that he should have  _done_. It wasn't that he cared about propriety—hang propriety—but it was  _Elizabeth._  And she'd just apologized for nothing. And it was Elizabeth. And she  _knew_. He lifted a hand to cover his face, looking away from her, hiding behind his arm. "I—"

She didn't say a word. She simply reached out and took his wrist, moving his hand away from his face. She could see his eye, he realized, she was looking directly in his eyes, and she had to be able to see the mark, the way the deal had changed him. She looked right at him, and time stuttered just for an instant. Then she lowered her head and Elizabeth kissed him back. Her mouth was warm, and soft against his, and he could taste sugar on her lips from the candy she'd eaten earlier.

For a moment, he was absolutely still. Then suddenly one of his hands was twisted up tight in her hair, working it out of the bun, and it was as curly as he remembered. He wasn't sure what had happened, but his other hand lingered at the small of her back, and when he slid it up her spine to find her head, she made a soft noise and her whole back arched. Elizabeth let out a gasping breath, and Ciel breathed her in in wonder. Her fingernails were scraping the nape of his neck, and the patch was left a useless scrap on the floor of the compartment.

He tasted salt. She was crying.

Ciel didn't let himself think. There was no point in thinking anymore. He brushed a tear off her face. "Lizzy."

"It's nothing." She blinked furiously, scrubbing her eyes dry, and then kissed him again, light as a butterfly. Her lips clung to his, and then she broke away and hid her face in the shoulder of his jacket. "It's nothing."

"Liar," he said simply, but he wrapped an arm around her anyway. His heart was pounding. "You're a terrible liar."

She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob, and he realized her heart was beating just as fast against his chest.


	35. His Partner, Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Blood, extreme violence.

The train had stopped.

Colleen picked herself up from the floor, and winced when she realized there was a shard of glass in her elbow.  _Bloody toffs and their mirrors._ She'd been changing when the world had shuddered and wrenched and thrown her off her feet, into the wall, and down to the carpet; now everything was quiet, and she had to step over shards of perfume bottles and the mirror that had been inlaid into the closet door— _seven years bad luck, right there, that is—_ to crack open the door of the compartment and peer out into the first class corridor. Along the hall, all the doors were opening; curious and complaining passengers sticking their heads right out into the hallway (where they could have been snicked off by an automaton without any effort, idiots) to look back and forth and ask stupid questions like "Has the train stopped?" and "Are we moving?"

Colleen slammed her compartment door shut again, and took a breath before seizing the piece of glass in her elbow and wrenching it out. It was easily the length of her little finger, the thickness of a small book, and blood spattered the floor. Her arm ached. The new dress was pretty much ruined now. Nina would be disappointed. Ignoring the steady throb of her arm, she shimmied out of the skirts and pulled on the trousers she'd snitched from the Lady Toff's trunk while her back had been turned. A torn strip of a petticoat went around her elbow, and she wrapped it as best she could with one hand, pulling the knot tight with her teeth. Then on went the shirt (that she hadn't stolen; it was one of Nina's many insisted-upon gifts, which she really had rather not owned, but there was no helping it now). Her hair was still too short for her to even pull it back into a short braid, but she supposed that was better. After all, a braid was something that could be grabbed. Loose hair was more difficult for people to snatch at. She seized the gun that she'd been given by the Lady Toff's mum and held it loosely in one hand as she slipped out of the compartment and closed the door as quietly as she could behind her.

There had been neither hide nor hair of Elizabeth since she'd asked to speak to the little lordling alone. Colleen was fairly certain that they were either ripping each other's throats out by this point, or doing something entirely different—Elizabeth's expression had been very strange, and who knew what the little lordling was thinking at any time of the day. She passed another compartment, this one with a half open door—a little boy with red hair peered out at her, and his eyes widened a bit when he saw her pistol. Colleen stuck a finger to her lips and forced herself to smile. She wasn't sure that anyone would be brutal enough to turn a kid like that into an automaton, but since he wasn't flying for her face, that meant he was harmless. For now, at least.

Parker's compartment was empty.  _Big surprise._  Damn the bastard. If he wasn't scuttling back to the Director and that fecking clot Cutter, she'd eat her boots. Then she'd make Parker eat a bullet. She felt her lips pull up into a smile, one that bared teeth and promised blood. It was a pleasant thought.

"Miss Murray."

Colleen whirled, and fired her gun. His hand moved preternaturally fast; Black caught the bullet in one hand, a few inches from his heart, and let it fall to the ground, giving her a disapproving look. "You shouldn't waste your resources on me, Miss Murray. After all, this incident is most likely linked to the people we are following, and thus we should be alert for any sort of danger."

"How in the bloody fecking  _hell_  do you know my name?" No one had called her by the name Murray since she'd left Ireland. No one. Black's mouth curled up at the corner, but he lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug.

"It is my business to know such things, Miss Murray."

She hesitated. Then she lowered her gun again, and without a word, offered her hand. He deposited the bullet in it, and she curled her fingers around the scrap of metal. It was still very hot. "What happened?"

"It appears that the conductor and his assistant have both been defenestrated." Colleen gave him a quizzical look, and the butler translated. "Thrown out of the window of the first compartment. If I am not very much mistaken, our quarry has initiated a back-up escape plan. We should move as quickly as we can to prevent them from getting too far away."

This was part of the reason Black drove her mad. He always used such stupidly long words. "Automata?"

"I have disposed of four." For the first time she realized his gloves were soaked through with blood, and her stomach lurched. "I am certain that there are more on board."

"You're certain, hm?"

"Colleen." The voice came from behind her. Elizabeth. The little lordling was right behind her. Black relaxed just a bit at the sight of him, and was instantly by Phantomhive's side, asking something in a low voice. The lady had her swords drawn, hanging in both hands, and her pistol had been thrust through the waistband of her skirt. Well, Colleen had always known that the Lady Toff had had a bit of a brain. "What happened?"

"The train stopped."

The Lady Toff was very pale, quite white around the mouth; she looked faint, to be honest, but she could still send killer glares. Elizabeth scowled. "Well, clearly. Where's Theodore?"

"Dunno." Colleen let her lip curl. "Prob'ly with his robot mates."

That hit her hard. Colleen could see the remaining blood vanish in Elizabeth's face, the way her head jerked to the side, as though she hadn't expected betrayal, hadn't thought about it every second since they dragged Theodore Fecking Parker into all of this in the first place. For some idiotic reason, her gut twisted in sympathy. After all, Elizabeth Middleford was nothing if not trusting. She'd trusted Colleen right at the start, hadn't she? Even in the middle of the night and faced with a tricksy fiancé, she'd still let Colleen stay.

Colleen shook her head sternly.  _Stop thinking about it._

Black had probably explained things, because the lordling looked over at Elizabeth, and there was a strange flickering in his eyes that Colleen had never seen him show before. Whatever had happened in the compartment, it didn't look like they wanted to kill each other anymore. The lordling coughed, and then put on his I Am The Queen's Bloody Watchdog And Don't Do Well With Anyone Questioning My Orders voice. "Clearly our plans have now changed. Our first priority is to ascertain the location of the Director and his assistants. The automata are secondary. We will dispose of them when we find them, but we  _should not seek them out_. It would only exhaust us and make us primary targets."

"We need to protect the passengers," Elizabeth added, and she gave the little lordling a sideways glance before coloring and looking very quickly away. He didn't seem to notice, but he did clear his throat. Colleen couldn't help it; she smirked.  _They are_ definitely  _getting along now._ She could think of any number of ways that  _that_ could have occurred, but most of them would have taken a lot longer than ten minutes in a train compartment, unless they were both very, very inexperienced. Colleen tilted her head to the side, and decided that they were both too childish for something like that. It would have to have been something simple.

"And the passengers."

"The passengers, my lord?" Black sounded curious. "With our current numbers, it will be difficult to do all of these things at once."

"Then we'll do the best we can. I doubt the Queen wants an international incident on her conscience."

Black tilted his head, and gave the Lady Toff a considering look before bowing to his master. "Yes, my lord."

"What about Parker?" Colleen asked, and both Elizabeth and the little lordling turned and blinked at her, as though they'd forgotten she was there. "Do we kill him if we see him?"

"Somehow I highly doubt he'll let himself be seen," said the lordling, and his mouth twisted, just a bit. "If you do manage to catch him, disable him. We still might be able to use him to our advantage."

Lady Toff shifted uncomfortably. She made no objection.

"We'll have to split up." The lordling glances up at Black, considering. "I'll go with Sebastian and examine the conductor's compartment again, see what we can find. Elizabeth and Colleen will go the opposite direction. See if you can get people to stay in their compartments. We want as many humans out of the way as possible."

"There's no fecking way any of those lot will listen to us," Colleen said. She had more than enough experience with snotty brats like the people on this train to know that much. "We'll go up front, you lot go deal with the passengers."

"I'm not about to let the sanctity of my investigation be violated by sloppy workmanship and inexperienced bumblers."

"Ciel," said Elizabeth. Her voice was cold. The lordling looked at her for a moment before glancing at Black. "She's right, you know she is. There are loads of people back there that won't give us a jot of their attention because of who we are, even if we held them at swordpoint. You have a better chance of getting them back into their compartments and keeping them out of the way than we do."

"Elizabeth—"

"Forgive me, my lord, but she is correct." The lordling glared at Black, but his mouth clicked shut. "After all, we have a better chance of determining the automata through the crowd."

The lordling rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. Then he looked at Colleen. "If you ruin this, I will personally fillet you and have you fried and fed to my dogs."

"Understood." She glared right back at him. "And if you find Cutter, don't touch him. He's mine."

"Violent little thing, aren't you?"

"Colleen." Elizabeth stepped up beside her. "We should go. If this turns out to be nothing, then we need to get back into our compartments, and if it turns out to be something—"

"It needs to be dealt with," Colleen finished. "I know. C'mon, Lady Toff."

She gave Ciel one last glare as they walked away. He didn't pay attention. He was watching Elizabeth, all the way back up the corridor.

* * *

 

If she had had time to consider the situation, Elizabeth would have been buzzing with the thought of what she had just done. What had just happened. Ciel had kissed her.  _She_ had kissed  _Ciel_. It was the height of impropriety, and she didn't care, not one jot, because it brought a delicious flush to her skin to even consider it. She wondered if Colleen had noticed anything. The Irish girl kept giving her strange looks, as though she was trying to understand something. She was quite certain Sebastian knew; there was no other reason for why he'd given her such a knowing look before whisking Ciel off in the opposite direction. The thought made her ears go hot. She didn't want anyone else to know about it; she wanted it to be just between them, a secret in the dark.

She shook her head furiously, and walked faster. Of course, she didn't have time to really think about it.

She was still buzzing as she marched with Colleen down the corridor of the first class cabin, her swords weighing heavy in her hands, her wrists torqueing as she held the tips of the blades up off of the carpeted floor. A few people poked their heads out of their compartments, but when they saw Colleen's pistol (Elizabeth didn't know where she'd picked it up, but she seemed to be holding it properly, at least) and Elizabeth's swords, they pulled their heads right back into their rooms and locked the door.

It made no sense. They weren't even halfway to Strasbourg yet. They were nowhere near any sensible place that she could think of; right before the train had stopped and she'd crashed into Ciel, she'd looked out the window and she hadn't even seen a farmhouse. So what was the point? Why throw the conductor and his assistant out the window (she hated to think if they were even alive now) if they were nowhere near their goal, and not even close to civilization?

 _They want to finish this._  It was the only explanation. They must have known that she, Ciel, and the others had come on board. They must have seen something, or must have been told something. She couldn't prove it, but that didn't make her any less certain that it was true. Unless the train stopping and the loss of the conductor had absolutely nothing to do with their mission (unlikely) this was all because of the Zodiac.

The Zodiac. Theodore. Her throat tightened, and she coughed.  _Whatever you're doing, Theodore, you'd better hope that it's not something I'll kill you for._

Because she wasn't even certain she'd be able to hold a blade on him, let alone kill him.

Abruptly, she wished her parents were here. That Edward was here. The last time she'd been caught in a situation like this one, with all of these civilians about, had been the  _Campania_. She would have felt reassured knowing her family was here to defend the innocent while she helped Ciel pursue the guilty.

Elizabeth shook her head again, and her bangs bounced against her face.  _They want a battle? They'll damn well get one._

The outside world was eerily silent as they opened the door to the passage between the first class compartments and the first class dining car. There weren't even crickets chirping. Elizabeth went first, and peered through the marbled glass, trying to see inside. There was a dark red spatter across the window that looked unsettlingly like blood. She steeled herself, tightening her hands around her blades. Then she gestured to Colleen. "Open it."

"You open it."

Elizabeth held up her blades. Two swords needed two hands. "Open it and then get out of the way."

That seemed to work out well enough for Colleen. She drew a deep breath, turned the knob to the side, and let the door swing inward, scooting around to the other side of the door frame. She held her gun in both hands. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, leaned her head back against the wall of the train car, and wondered if it was possible for one's heart to beat its way out of one's chest. The last time she had smelled this much blood had been when she'd pulled the trigger on Vladimir Petrovsky. She could still feel the ache in her hands from the recoil of the gun, see the shock on his face as the bullet blasted through his body.  _Breathe, Lizzy. Breathe._

She swallowed hard, and then slipped into the darkened dining car.

Nothing. No movement. It stank of copper and rust. She stepped over a shattered plate, turning as she went, trying very hard to keep her eyes constantly moving. There was a body slumped over the nearest table, head nearly severed from its spine; wires and metal stuck out of the torn flesh of the neck, broken and crackling. She could smell ozone in the air. Electricity. These had been automata. There was another body sprawled across the floor, a plate driven deep into her body, a hole in her back where her heart had been torn out. It had been left on the floor beside her, a mess of steel and blood. Elizabeth went very still, and waited, trying very hard not to breathe in the blood. There was no sign of life in this car. Everything was broken. Even the curtains were torn to shreds, as if by some gigantic animal. Finally, she lowered her swords. "Colleen."

Colleen stepped in, and her whole face twisted with disgust. "Automata?"

"Mm." Elizabeth tapped the mechanical woman with the point of her sword. No movement. Her green glass eyes stared blankly into nothing. "Sebastian must have come through here."

"What do you think?" said Colleen tartly, and she stepped over the body to head for the opposite door.

There was a wild shriek. For a second Elizabeth couldn't tell where it was coming from. Then she realized Colleen had been wrenched to the ground, and that the body of the third automaton—a man, late forties, pudgy, his eyeballs missing from his skull—had seized her by the ankles and pulled her off balance, hugging her close. There was a gunshot, and something hot blazed by Elizabeth's cheek; she snapped into action. Elizabeth lunged, the sword clunking against metal and then piercing the floor; Colleen screamed again, and so did the automata, a high whining clunking noise that grated against her ears. Then everything went quiet again. Colleen scooted backwards on the floor, her eyes wide and her chest heaving. There was a smear of blood around her ankle. " _D'anam don diabhal._ "

"Just about." Elizabeth pulled her sword free of the automaton and wiped it on the cushion of a nearby chair, getting the blood off as best she could. There was a terrible scratch up the center of the blade now, a mark from the metal skeleton she knew was inside. Something clenched inside her chest. It was a miracle her swords hadn't sustained heavier damage by now, she knew, but at the same time, she'd rather thought they were invincible. Always gleaming. A constant. Now they were…not. "We should keep moving. If there's one still alive, there's probably more."

Colleen nodded, and this time when Elizabeth stepped over the body, the Irish girl was very close behind.

They had to get down out of the train in order to circle the coal car and get into the conductor's compartment, and the door had jammed. Elizabeth and Colleen had to slam their shoulders into it together, once, twice, three times, before it finally unstuck, and Colleen seized Lizzy by the back of her skirt before she could tumble forward into shards of glass. The compartment was empty. The brake—or what Lizzy assumed was the brake, thanks to the fact that the train had stopped and that the lever was pulled nearly out of its socket—had been wrenched forward, and then tilted at an unnatural angle, the handle pointed nearly at the floor. She could taste coal and blood on the back of her throat, and it made her want to choke. There was another smear of red, this time on the broken window on the side of the compartment; it looked as though the entire pane of glass had been shattered and spread across the floor. Pieces crackled under their feet as they stepped inside, and Colleen crept closer, her fingers tightening on her pistol. "It's hot in here."

"The boiler." It was still glowing red through the slatted iron door. "Don't touch it. You'll get burned."

"Right."

There was an oil lamp lying on its side in the center of the compartment. Elizabeth crouched, and then sorted through the broken glass. The candle was still good, long enough to give them some light; when she stuck the wick through the slats of the coal burner, it caught almost instantly, and she molded the wax at the base to be pressed into a nearby shard of glass. It didn't offer much light, but it was enough. There was more blood, splattered over the side of the compartment. Clearly, the conductor and his assistant had not gone quietly at all.

"It looks like Sebastian was right." She couldn't see anything out of the ordinary for the situation Sebastian had described, anyway. There was a pocket-watch gleaming on the floor; she picked it up, letting it twirl through the air. It was heavy, and blood dripped off the chain. "This must have belonged to the conductor."

Colleen stepped back, and leaned out the door of the compartment. "Bad way to die."

Lizzy didn't want to think about it. Her heart clenched in her chest.  _Poor men._  She was quite certain that whoever the conductors had been, they didn't deserve this sort of death.

"There's not much to see here," said Colleen, as Elizabeth stood and slipped the watch into the deep pocket of her skirt. The blood smeared on her fingers, and she scrubbed it away. "What else can we even really do?"

 _Not much_ , was the answer. Still. Elizabeth glanced at the window, and then picked up the shard of glass she'd wedged the candle on. It had a flat base, and as long as she was careful, she could carry the thing like a candelabra and not cut herself. The watch weighed heavy in her pocket. "Let's check around outside."

They'd stopped in farmland, or near enough to it. She could smell rich earth and growing plants as she lifted the candle higher, trying to see. The moon was almost full, and there was a copse of trees about a hundred feet away from the railroad tracks, the branches sticking up into the night sky like fingers. It reminded her very suddenly of the wreckage of the first Phantomhive manor, which she'd ridden through so long ago on Beatrice. _Beatrice_. She'd kill for her horse right now. Elizabeth turned and looked back down the train. There were lights on all the way down to the end, far in the distance; a few curious heads stuck out into the night sky, and a few more people had managed to climb out, and were wandering around in an attempt to figure out what had happened and where they were going. A handful of them were coming towards the conductor's cabin, moving silently and purposefully in the dark.

Elizabeth bit her tongue.  _Damn it._  "Colleen."

"What?" Colleen poked her head out of the cabin and went still at the sight of the four figures running at them in the dark. Without a word, she slipped back inside, and Elizabeth blew out the candle and hid between the coal car and the conductor's compartment, holding her swords tightly in both hands.  _The element of surprise is more valuable than anything else I can ever teach you, Elizabeth. Learn how to use it._

She waited until the absolute last moment—until she saw the shadow of the automata dappling the entrance to the conductor's car, and heard the whirring click of its gears—before she lunged out and pierced it through the throat.

After that it was a whirl of movement, of blades and flashing moonlight. A hooked claw caught her on the shoulder, tearing at the sensitive skin. She screamed, and wrenched away, ripping a new scar in her already pockmarked shoulder. She heard another gunshot, and the head of the automaton with hooked hands exploded, sending machine parts and bone spattering across her face and bodice. The second automaton, a woman, a girl maybe sixteen, cocked her head to the side and almost seemed to float across the grass towards her, some grotesque mockery of a ghost in a long white dress. There was another gunshot, and blood blossomed on the woman's sleeve before Colleen fired again and hit the heart. Five shots. She had one more at most. Elizabeth turned and plunged her blade to the hilt through the heart of the fourth automaton, and hoped to God that this would be the end of it.

Then she heard the shot.

It was a different gun, she knew that much. A different gun, a different caliber, a different direction. The bullet clipped the edge of the coal car and rebounded, whistling off into the French night. There was another shot, and the automata that could still move scattered to the four winds, vanishing over the top of the train, and Elizabeth felt the blood running down her shoulder and spattering against her wrist as she lunged back into the hiding spot between the two cars, struggling to breathe. There was another shot, and then a shout. " _Come out of there, you scheming bitch! Come out here and I'll rip your throat out!_ "

Cutter. It was Cutter. She'd never heard him scream before, but it was Cutter. It had to be. There was a crackle of broken glass and then Colleen was out and running before Lizzy could catch her, and the bullets whistled through the air like falling stars as she lunged after her, trying to grab her, failing. "Colleen!" She didn't just shout it; she  _shrieked_  it, until it tore at her throat and left her mouth to rip through the night sky. " _Colleen!_ "

But Colleen was gone, and she was left standing in the nook between the coal car and the front of the train, her swords bloody to the hilt, and then there was a dark figure before her, standing with hands in pockets and head tilted just so to the side.

It was then that Elizabeth knew that she was going to die.

"Hello, darling," said the Director. He smiled. "It's been a while."


	36. His Partner, Manipulated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: blood, violence, death.

It was official. Ciel hated trains.

The passengers weren't the problem. Well, not exactly. Most of them did as they were bid and retreated back into their rooms when faced with Sebastian; more than a few of them locked their doors with audible clicks. The butler's bloody gloves and deadly smile were more than enough to scare any rational creature on the planet, especially considering the survival instinct that snapped into play the moment a human saw those dried-blood eyes.

It wasn't the automata, though that was worrying him. Their absence was like a weight in his stomach as they crept through the belly of the locomotive, especially when they found the bodies. A few of the busboys, waiters for the dining cars, even one or two of the passengers, crammed into a side-cabinet in the storage car with their throats gaping open in wide, maniacal smiles. A few had been nearly decapitated with the force of the cuts. It reminded him of the automata workshop, the spicy smell of the soul-cutters, body parts left on ice and metal skeletons hung from the ceiling. Blood spattered the walls, dripped from the ceilings of the cars. It came to the point where all the compartments were locked, and they had to advise no one to stay inside. However many automata there were, it was clear that most of the passengers had picked up on their presence, and were staying as quiet and as hidden as possible. It certainly made his job easier, anyway.

The bodies in the cupboard weren't the problem either. The problem was that after the second-class cars, the train had partially derailed, and now nearly half of the compartments had been tipped—some neatly, some awkwardly—onto their sides. This meant that rather than walking through to the end of the train, as he had anticipated they would, they had to climb awkwardly over trunks, under creaking doors, and crawl through tiny passages made by crushed seats and fallen cushions. It was time-consuming and bruising and leaving them both completely vulnerable, and if he had been honest with himself, he could have said it would drive him mad. But there was no time for that sort of thing, for those sorts of thoughts. Not when in the back of his mind he kept getting flashes of blood on blonde hair and mouths cut wide and throats slit through so that the face gaped and the head lolled back on the neck, exposing veins and muscles and flesh and bone.

There was no time in this business for regrets. There was no time in his life to second-guess anything. Then again, she'd always had a talent for upsetting his best-laid plans and making him destroy all the promises he'd made to himself since that month in the cage. The memory flashed back to him, unbidden, heat and hands and mouths, and Ciel shook his head quickly, driving it back to where it had come from.

"My lord," said Sebastian. It was the first time he'd spoken since they'd split up with Elizabeth and Colleen near the front of the train. "If I might interrupt your contemplation?"

Ciel struggled over a door that had been ripped off its hinges by something with enormous claws. One of the modified automata, perhaps. "What?"

"Am I to congratulate you, my lord, on your upcoming nuptials?"

Ciel stood up very straight, hit his head on the bottom of a gaslamp, and ducked again. Shattered glass caught in his hair. He picked it out carefully, ignoring the way his skull was aching and how the back of his neck had gone very hot, and said, "What on earth are you talking about, Sebastian?"

Sebastian simply looked at him for a moment. The corner of his mouth almost twitched. Then he turned back and lifted a piece of furniture so Ciel could crawl underneath it. "Nothing, my lord. It simply seems that you and Miss Middleford have settled your differences?"

"Maybe." He didn't particularly want to go into it. After all, the last person he wanted to explain this to was Sebastian Michaelis. Ciel said nothing more.

Sebastian sounded…not quite amused, exactly, but not purely noncommittal either. There was a hint of laughter in his voice when he said, "Should I expect to prepare for a wedding in a few years' time?"

"No," said Ciel, and the word was hard and cold. "There will be no wedding, Sebastian."

"My lord?"

"I will not let her marry a dead man," he said, and it was something that slipped out, something he had never meant to say, but it shut Sebastian up for a long terrible moment. Ciel wondered if Sebastian was going to say something cold, cutting, cruel, but they climbed on through the train for a few minutes in relative silence. After all, there was nothing much Sebastian could say in response to that. For a mad second, Ciel wondered what Agni would say; even now when he was falling asleep sometimes those words echoed in his head, the quiet advice:  _We make choices, and sometimes these choices are mistakes. The thing we need most is courage, and the willingness to seek the truth._  He wondered what Agni would think about this.

"My lord?"

Ciel snarled a swearword under his breath and wrenched his hand away from the nearest plank. He'd stabbed himself on an old nail. " _What_ , Sebastian?"

"I believe that I have uncovered something interesting."

He nursed the hole in his hand. It was bleeding rather sluggishly, but it was blood nonetheless. "What?"

In answer, Sebastian seized the door that Ciel had just scrambled over, wrenched it out of the wall, and tossed it aside as though it weighed no more than a scrap of paper. There was a flare of dust; Ciel's lungs tightened curiously, asthma lifting its ugly head for the first time in a very long while. He focused on breathing for a few seconds, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief to keep his lungs from contracting too badly. His other hand still clung tight to his pistol. In the rising cloud of dust, a single figure huddled anxiously with its knees drawn up to its chest, head bowed, face hidden. It was a man, Ciel thought. Dark hair cut short. The hands were curiously long-fingered and slender, a pianist's fingers. There was something unsettlingly familiar about them. Ciel glanced at his butler. "Sebastian."

Sebastian nodded, reached down, and seized the man by his collar, lifting him to his feet as easily as he would lift a kitten. The boy let out a small shriek and began to writhe, hands fluttering around his face, trying to hide himself. "Don't kill me," the boy whimpered, and through the crossing of his wrists Ciel recognized the sharply cut face and wide grey eyes of Nathaniel Fotheringhay. "Please, please, don't kill me."

"Fotheringhay," Ciel said, and even though his voice was muffled by the handkerchief, he couldn't hide the edge. The dust was dying down. His lungs loosened. He tucked the handkerchief away. Sebastian had not let go of Fotheringhay. "What in God's name are you doing so far from your masters?"

It was as though Fotheringhay hadn't heard him. He continued to babble. "Please, I don't mean anything, I didn't want to be here,  _please_  don't kill me—"

Ciel was severely tempted to shoot Fotheringhay anyway. The whining was getting on his nerves. Still, he didn't lower his gun; instead, he tightened his finger ever-so-slightly on the trigger, and said, "Where are they, Fotheringhay?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" squealed Fotheringhay, who ducked his head and pulled his knees up against his chest, presenting as little of himself as a target as possible. It was an impressive feat, considering Sebastian was still holding him in midair. "I don't know, I'm sorry, don't kill me, please—"

Disgusted, Sebastian dropped him. Fotheringhay landed with a crash, still in his fetal ball, and started to scrabble away, but he had no time. Ciel reached out and tapped Fotheringhay on the forehead with the barrel of his gun. Fotheringhay's eyes rolled backwards into his head. "Oh, for God's sake—if you faint I will definitely shoot you, Fotheringhay, so pull yourself together!"

There were a few terrible moments when Ciel thought Sebastian would have to lug Fotheringhay's unconscious body through the rest of the train; then the man blinked, and blinked again, and took several deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling and pinching his wrists in a strange circular rhythm. Finally, he looked up at them again, and to Ciel's horror, he realized that Fotheringhay's eyes were full of tears. "Please don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you." He had to say it through his teeth. Ciel kept his gun out, but he let his hands fall to his sides. Without the pistol pressed near his face, Fotheringhay looked much healthier, though far more pale than was healthy. There were marks around his wrists and patches of deep color under his eyes; he either hadn't been sleeping, had been punched in the face, or both. "Arrest you, on the other hand, I'm still considering."

Fotheringhay looked panicked. "Please, don't—"

"If the next word that comes out of your mouth is  _kill_ ,  _arrest_ ,  _please,_  or  _don't_ , I will most definitely shoot you where you stand." The lordling's mouth snapped shut. He looked petrified. Out of the corner of his eye, Ciel thought he saw Sebastian's lips twitch up into a half-smile. At least one of them was finding this amusing. "Stand up."

Scrabbling through the broken glass and shattered door, Fotheringhay stood up. He was taller than Ciel remembered, and he moved like he had broken ribs, but at least he could walk and talk—though to be honest Ciel would much prefer it if he kept his mouth shut. "What are you doing down here, Fotheringhay? I would have thought you'd be cowering behind the Director by now. Isn't that what you've been doing for the past few months, hiding behind Petrovsky and the others?"

Fotheringhay licked his lips. He looked much less put-together than Ciel remembered. His grey eyes were wide and panicked, and his cravat was missing; there was blood on his hands, but not under his nails. It looked and smelled fresh. "I never killed anyone."

"Forgive me for not believing you straight out, Fotheringhay, but considering the events of the past few months I'm really not in the mood for lies."

"I never did! I never—I was there because of Beddor, my aunt's friend, the man who died, I never killed anyone, I never—"

It was settled. If Fotheringhay continued blabbering on in this stupid foppish way, Ciel was most certainly going to kill him, consequences with the Queen be damned. Still, the voice niggling in the back of his mind reminded him, there was no evidence that Fotheringhay had really done much of anything for the Zodiac; his presence there had been mainly for monetary backing and, judging from Elizabeth's evidence, a plaything for Felicity Parker; he had not been mentioned in any of Lau's reports about the drug-buyers, and he had never frequented any of the whorehouses. Ciel let out a burst of air and, finally, put his gun away. Fotheringhay seemed to go weak at the knees at the sight. "Thank you, Phantomhive,  _thank you—_ "

"If you do not shut your mouth, and keep it shut, I will let Sebastian do whatever he likes to you, and believe me, he's not particularly fond of people who have bound themselves to angels." Fotheringhay went even whiter, and his mouth shut so fast that Ciel heard the  _click_ of his perfect teeth. This man had a broken look, he decided, something feral about the eyes that reminded him of Colleen, back in the whorehouse on Fenchurch. The look of a beast in a cage, a wild thing backed into fight or flight, kill or be killed. Nathaniel Fotheringhay was not built for fighting; Ciel didn't doubt, however, that the boy had murder in him. After all, cornered animals had a terrible tendency to bite.

Fotheringhay was still staring at them, dread in every line of his face. He hadn't questioned the idea of angels, which was helpful. Ciel really  _would_  shoot him if he continued to play the idiot. "Where are they, Fotheringhay?"

"I don't know." More panicked babble. "I don't know. They left me in third class, they said to keep people from leaving, but how am I supposed to do something like that and oh, God, the automata are  _mad_ , I don't know what's going on—"

Ciel lifted a hand. Fotheringhay shut up. Beside him, Sebastian stayed still and silent. For a moment, the only sound was blood dripping from the butler's gloves. "Why stop the train?"

"He—he said he wanted to say hello." Fotheringhay hiccoughed, and took a great shuddering gulp of air. "He said you can't st-stop him, but he's bored, and—"

" _Why stop the train?_ "

"He's going to kill you!" Fotheringhay cried, and he buried his face in his hands. "Theodore came back and told us you were here, and they're waiting in the conductor's cabin for you, and don't kill me,  _please_  don't kill me, I didn't want to do any of this—"

Ciel stopped listening. His brain seemed to have shorted out. If they were waiting in the conductor's cabin, then the people who would walk straight into the trap would be—

Gunshots. A handful of them. They were distant, but the sharp retort of a pistol haunted his dreams now; he knew one when he heard it. He glanced at Fotheringhay, and then at Sebastian, and Sebastian slammed his hand down onto the back of Fotheringhay's neck and held on until the boy's eyes rolled up into his head and he lost his balance, consciousness slipping away like water. Ciel hadn't noticed. He was moving before he could even think about it, scrambling,  _running_  in a way he hadn't run in years, because God damn it, he was  _not_ going to let them touch her.

He was not about to let her die.

* * *

 

If Frances ever learned how quickly she'd been disarmed, Elizabeth was quite certain that her mother would not allow her to live through the night. The thought was strangely comforting, because even though that prickling sense on the back of her neck remained—that hint of macabre knowledge, the single phrase, pounding through her veins, whispering in her heart,  _I am going to die_ —it allowed her to imagine living long enough for her mother to kill her instead, and to be honest she would have preferred that sort of fate much more to this one. The wadded cloth of the handkerchief itched against the top of her mouth, the ropes that Shirakawa had wrapped around her wrists felt as though they were made up of beestings, and the wound in her shoulder from the automata was throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Blood soaked her shirt.

 _Nina's going to be furious,_  she thought, and then realized that Nina would probably never know what would happen out here. Nina would never learn how Elizabeth was going to die.

Suddenly, abruptly, she wanted to cry.

She hadn't seen either of the Parkers, and she wasn't quite certain if that was good or bad. She didn't want proof that Theodore had betrayed them, not now, but at the same time, she wanted to see him, to make certain he was all right, that he had a plan. In spite of herself, she wondered where Felicity was. Shirakawa's fingers tightened on her good shoulder as they stepped up over a stile and into a fenced-off paddock; if she turned, she could just barely see the train in the not-too-far distance, lamps glowing and flickering in random windows. The whole second half of the Orient Express had been tipped like a child's toy onto its side by the force of the stop, and again she wondered what had happened to the conductor, to his assistant. The watch she'd collected lay heavy in her pocket. Around them, the automata—there must have been at least a dozen of them, far more than she'd anticipated—clicked and whirred, bunching about them like an honor guard for the Queen herself. It meant there was no escape, and her throat closed up in spite of her self-imposed command to stay calm.

Slowly, she took stock of what she had. They had disarmed her fairly well, but they'd missed more than a few things; the hatpin that clung steadfastly to her bun, first of all. Her poisoned rings. If she could get her hand around, she might be able to give Shirakawa a good sharp shock of arsenic, but her wrists were bound so tight she'd be more than likely to poison herself if she tried. They'd taken her gun. Other than that, she was weaponless aside from herself. She remembered the last time she'd gone toe to toe with a member of the Zodiac, and it was as though Felicity's gauntleted hand had slammed across her face all over again.

Strategy was what would get her out of this, she realized, but that was only if they left her enough time to think. Tears prickled at her eyes. She blinked them away.

The Director was carrying both of her swords in one gloved hand, his fingers closed tight around the blades. Blood ran down the silvery metal, spattering a trail behind them. It was as though he couldn't feel it; he stepped over a rock with the ethereal grace of Sebastian Michaelis, and turned, so that he was walking backwards, watching Elizabeth and Shirakawa with a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry for this sort of treatment, my dear, but I'm afraid that you're the only way we'll be able to lure your lovely young cousin out of his lair in the end of the train, and I'm certain that you would not have come quietly even if I had asked."

Elizabeth felt as though her blood were burning.  _Ciel, stay away. Please, God, make him stay away._  But she knew Ciel too well for that. Her heart was already sinking. The Director's mouth quirked up higher, into an actual smile, and she wasn't sure if the shiver that went down the back of her neck was fear or surprise. "How have you been handling everything, my dear?"

She stared at him for a long moment, and felt the most curious urge to cry. Then she blinked a few times, furiously, and looked away, and the Director laughed, a light, bell-like sound.

"Ah, well. I suppose I should know better than to ask."

" _Taichou_ ," someone said, and it took her a long moment before she realized that Shirakawa's lips had moved. She couldn't remember if she'd ever heard the man speak before. "Cutter."

Sure enough, Cutter was looming up out of the darkness, still limping from the bullet Elizabeth had given him back at the theatre what seemed like a thousand years ago. Her whole body went cold, for reasons that would not quite process. He was alive and walking, but he looked like hell. There was a long series of scratches down his cheek, deep and dark in the moonlight, and there was a bullet wound in his arm. She couldn't see Colleen anywhere. Something dangerous flickered over the Director's face, here and then gone, like a mirage. "I hope you didn't wreck her entirely."

"Apologies," said Cutter in a low and dismissive voice, but he shifted uneasily, his hand tightening around his bloody arm.  _How did she shoot him,_  Elizabeth thought,  _if I didn't hear a gunshot_? But then the realization that Cutter was alive and Colleen was— _not dead, she can't be dead, she's not allowed to be dead, damn it, she can't be gone—_ not here hit her over the head like a Ming vase and it was all she could do to keep herself standing. "There should be enough of her to use if you need it."

The Director looked appropriately mollified, and then opened his hand. Elizabeth's swords clattered to the ground, and there was a terrible screech as one rebounded off a rock. Next to her, Shirakawa winced, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder. "This should be far enough away, my dears. Where's Fotheringhay?"

"Where you left him,  _taichou_ ," said Shirakawa, in his soft and husky voice. "In third class."

It was third class that was currently turned on its side. Elizabeth thought of the bright, vivacious Nathaniel Fotheringhay, of his cousin Stephen, and wondered if crying would help her any.

"Ah." The Director seemed supremely unconcerned by this turn of events. "That will bother Felicity. Where is she, by the way?"

"She's talking with her brother," said Cutter, and if it was possible, the weight on her back began to crush her heart. Elizabeth closed her eyes.  _Theodore, what are you doing?_  "They'll be along shortly, they said." He hesitated. "Director, about the Parker boy—"

"Theodore has returned to do his duty, and that is all I will have said on the matter." There was a touch of warning in the Director's voice, a hint of violence. "He is as much a member of the Zodiac as you, Parthenos, and his right to be here is, perhaps, even greater than yours, considering the incident in London."

Around them, the automata rustled. Cutter looked at them, nervously. Elizabeth wondered if Theodore had been right, if it had been Cutter who had sent the automata after them at the Sandfords' birthday party—it certainly seemed like it, judging by the expression on his face. Then she remembered that Theodore had betrayed them, or, at the very least, abandoned them to die, and she shook that thought out of her head.

"Do not make me regret my decision to leave you alive, Bartholomew," said the Director. "Your hatred of Theodore has not escaped me. You will not get another chance."

Cutter bowed. "Yes, my lord."

There was a chilly silence. The French countryside was almost eerily quiet, and the grass had grown up high; it was wheat, she realized, wheat that was half-grown, already as high as her hips, and it rustled against her skirt as she shifted from foot to foot, trying to ignore the dull and prickling pain in her shoulder. Around them, the automata were eerily silent. Moonlight reflected off of their glass eyes. Theodore's face leapt up before her again, unbidden, across the table in the Parisian garret.  _I suppose you could say he kept his secrets well. I still don't know what it is he wants with the souls he takes. He couldn't really care less about the automata. It's their souls he wants, in their little metal shells._

 _The automata don't matter_ , she repeated to herself, and looked at them more closely.  _It's their souls he wants._  It was Augustus Parker's idea to make them into automatons. The bodies were a means to an end, a home for the soul.  _Think, Elizabeth, think. You're not dead yet._  Souls. Automata. No, the automata didn't matter any longer, it was the souls that mattered. Souls. Souls in metal shells. Jerusalem. The Holy City of Jerusalem. Site of the Crusades. Jerusalem.

 _What does he want in Jerusalem_? As insane as the Director was, she was certain he was going there for a reason. He wanted something. He wanted to do something. This wasn't just a pleasure cruise for him, not just a side-adventure. He wanted to do something in Jerusalem, and that was why he'd stopped the train. He knew they were going to try and stop him.

Someone touched her jaw. The Director. He pinched her chin between his fingers, and his blood smeared on her skin. It burned like acid. "You're a bit hardier than I thought, my dear, to have weathered the hurricane of the Phantomhives for this long without shattering completely."

 _Damn you_ , she wanted to say,  _damn you,_  but the only noise she could make through the gag was a sort of muffled croak, and she didn't want to humiliate herself by trying again. She settled for glaring at him, and the Director rocked back on his heels and laughed again, quite delightedly, at her expression. "Oh, I have no doubt you would kill me if you could, my dear, but I'm afraid I've grown a bit tired of this waltz between the Zodiac and the Watchdog. The situation with the train is pitiable, of course, but something that can't be helped."

 _Murderer_ , she thought, and it must have shown on her face, because his fingers tightened on her chin.

"Judge not lest ye be judged, my lovely Miss Middleford." Something in his eyes flickered, changed, and for the first time Elizabeth could look at this man—this creature, she corrected herself, because the look in his eyes was not human, had never been human—and see what he might have been. For the first time, she thought she might have spotted Ramiel. "Do you remember what I told you, my dear?"

The words came to her, unbidden.  _If you truly love someone, you should understand._  She still didn't understand what they meant. She still wasn't sure. Then Sebastian's words returned too, as she sat with her cup of tea, listening to him whisper secrets.  _It was my purpose, centuries ago, to…corrupt creatures like Ramiel. I tempted him, and he fell._  The Director was obsessed with Sebastian, she had known that for a while, but for the first time she considered the idea that Sebastian had not only tempted the Director into falling from grace, but he had tempted Ramiel into loving him. She had known this, she realized, since the first time she'd heard the Director say Sebastian's name. There was no other word for it. He spoke of Sebastian in sibilant whispers, in loving caresses.  _If you truly love someone, you should understand._  In her pocket, the watch felt heavier and heavier; sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She couldn't look away from the Director, from Ramiel, and as he stared at her, she thought she saw something flicker in his gaze. He looked away first. "Shirakawa, do we have another vessel?"

"We have three,  _taichou_. The remaining three."

"Three," the Director repeated, and then he stepped up to Shirakawa, holding out his bleeding hand. Shirakawa hesitated, just for a moment; then he released Lizzy's shoulder just long enough to dig his hand into his pocket and pull out a small burlap sack, which he handled with the greatest care. The Director did no such thing. He tore it open, and three glinting half-spheres of metal fell into his hand, piling on top of each other like the Scarabs that were crawling through the hair of the automatons around them. "Three left?" he said again, as though he couldn't see them in his hand.

"Three," Shirakawa confirmed, in his clipped accent. The Director rolled the metal spheres between his fingers, and then flipped one to Cutter, who fumbled the catch.

"Bring the girl's soul back, Cutter."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely. Go."

 _Colleen_ , she wanted to say,  _don't you dare touch Colleen_ , but Cutter had already vanished back into the night, and there was nothing she could do other than stand and stare into the night, listening for crickets that had never begun to chirp. One of Felicity's Scarabs crawled over the face of the nearest automaton, and she felt the hair stand up on her spine.

"She's been too long," said the Director, and without explaining himself, he turned to one of the automata. The half-woman bowed, and then disappeared into the dark after Cutter, and Elizabeth wondered if Theodore had taken his sister and left, the way they'd always planned he would.  _It's our plan_ , she thought, and in spite of everything, she nearly choked on laughter. Was that why he'd vanished? Had he known something like this would happen? Were they his distraction, his hidden plan?  _Take her, Theodore, and run. Get her away from here. And for God's sake, if I get out of this, don't ever let me find you, because if I do, I'll flay you limb from limb_.

"I suppose Theodore has told you about our little family, Miss Middleford," said the Director, and Elizabeth's eyes snapped back to him. "About Olivia and Augustus and Theodore and Fee, a family that made all the wrong choices and had the worst sort of luck in the world." He paused, as though to observe this fact in the air. Then he continued: "It's a tragic story, don't you think? It always reminds me of _Hamlet_ , in the funniest little ways." He wiped his bleeding hand on his trousers, and she realized that there was a flap of skin hanging off his palm from her blades. He didn't even seem to notice. "It doesn't sound as good as _Hamlet_ , though.  _The Tragedy of the Parkers_. If I could get Shakespeare to write it, I suppose he would come up with a better title."

 _You're mad_ , Elizabeth thought, and again it was as though he'd read her mind.

"No, my dear, I'm inhuman. There's a difference. I love as you do, and I hate as you do, but it's all deeper. It's all  _more_." He picked up a stone with his good hand and flung it away into the wheat. Above them, an owl hooted. "Your cousin is alive, my dearest Miss Middleford. I have given orders that none shall harm him, or his slave. You have my word on that."

Somehow she didn't believe him. Elizabeth closed her eyes and listened. She prayed.  _Let Colleen be all right. Please. And please let them get out, let them escape, Theodore and Colleen and Ciel. Please, God, let them get out of here alive._

A stick snapped. Her eyes flickered open just in time to see the Director tilt his head, ever so slightly; he opened his mouth and took a breath, like a cat scenting the air. "Reapers."

Reapers. Ronald Knox. Her heart began to beat like a rabbit's. They might have help after all. Then she remembered what reapers existed to do, and she wondered:  _Who are they here to collect?_

"Come, my dear Miss Elizabeth," said the Director, and he took her from Shirakawa, lifting her up into his arms, and his blood stained her skirt as he carried her. "We have a bit further to go before we can finally rest."


	37. His Partner, Breaking

The ticket taker for the third class cars of the Orient Express waited, patiently crouched in a closet off of the second dining car, listening to the screams of a faraway girl and wondering if there would still be oyster crackers behind the wine bar. Charles Grey had never considered scrounging for food in the scene of a crime—well, unless the crime had taken place on the Phantomhive Estate, because as much as he loathed the brat and all of his servile affiliates, that butler of his could make a damn good curry—but his stomach was currently turning itself inside out and gnawing on his liver, and if he didn't get something in his belly soon, he might as well put his pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger. After all, he had no wish to die of starvation. It seemed a highly unappetizing demise, in more than the punnish sense.

Grey wasn't the sort of person to believe in miracles, and never had been, but even he had to agree that it was incredibly lucky for him that he had been out collecting shirker's tickets rather than sitting and waiting in the conductor's car when the automata had come through. If he hadn't ducked to get something from under the counter at exactly the right moment, he would have been flung out of the window too, defenestrated along with the conductor and his second-in-command, and wouldn't that have just been delightful?

_What a hellish way to die._

He had to admit, though, it would be fast. And at least he would have gone down fighting.

Charles Grey was never going to let his life end without one hell of a fight.

He leaned forward, resting his chin absently on his kneecaps, and blew a strand of silvery hair out of his face. He supposed, in the back of his mind, that he should probably venture out of this hidey-hole to see who had done the screaming. Then again, there had been a lot of screaming on this train in the last twenty minutes—deadly metal men and butlers had done more than enough to cause  _that._ Abruptly he wished he had his sword, and that he hadn't had to leave it in the compartment with Phipps. He wouldn't have to sit waiting in a cupboard if he only had his saber with him.

The scream died. Grey stayed still for a few minutes longer, and then finally lost patience. He shifted, awkward, and then pushed himself to his feet. He pulled his gloves from his pocket. He felt better with them on.

Grey unlatched the door, peeking out of the smallest crack he could possibly make. There was blood splashed over the opposite wall, dripping in slow beats from the gossamer-painted ceiling, but other than that, no movement. No sound. No life. He pushed the door open further, waiting with words caught in his throat. Then his stomach growled. It was an impressive sound; he could swear the whole train had heard it, and he nearly snapped the door shut again. Then he shook his head— _don't be an idiot, Grey_ —and pushed his way out into the hallway. His shoes landed right in a puddle of blood, and he made a face. He would have to get that cleaned.

"There you are," said a familiar voice, and when he turned, Grey kicked himself. Even if Phipps was his partner, he should have realized the man was there. Then again, Phipps had the eerie tendency of appearing in places without a single hint of sound. He was carrying Grey's saber. He flung the blade at Grey, who caught it without looking. He felt the tension in his spine vanish. The hilt fit his gloved hand perfectly. "I was wondering if I was going to have to find a new partner."

Grey felt his lips twitch. "You're cheeky today."

"When the sun goes out in the middle of the afternoon, you get the right to a little cheek." There was an edge to Phipps' voice, something that Grey had never heard before. He'd never seen Phipps nervous like this, either. The man was drumming his fingers against his hip, anxious, his eyes flickering over everything. He couldn't seem to look away from the smears of blood for too long; Grey drew his sword a few inches from the scabbard, checked the sharpness of the blade, and then sheathed it again. "I'm going to take a guess, Grey, and say that this wasn't in the original plan for either of them."

"You have to ask that in the first place?" It felt like something a bored child would do, stuck with a train set when all he wanted was a new toy—just scream, and then knock the whole thing over. "Dining car first. I'm hungry."

Phipps looked revolted. "You're joking."

"I don't joke about food."

The dining car was both more and less of a horror than he had imagined it would be. Carefully, Grey stepped over one of the bodies and ducked behind the wine bar, digging through the cabinets in an effort to find something to shut his stomach up. He couldn't see his partner, but he was absolutely certain that Phipps was studying the bodies, bouncing absently on the balls of his feet the way he did when he was anxious, when he said, "They must have put a great many automata on this train."

"How could they have afforded it, I wonder?" mused Grey, and he emerged from his search with half of a baguette, tearing off pieces and popping them into his mouth. It was highly unprofessional, yes, but there was no one to see, and besides, he was  _hungry_. "They must have pooled funding now that the rest of the Zodiac are dead."

"Remember the wills," Phipps said. He stepped over the body of a man with both glass eyes missing. "They all entrusted at least part of their bequests to another member of the Zodiac."

"To Fotheringhay, you mean." The baguette was vanishing fast, but at least it had helped a little bit. Grey brushed the crumbs off of his waistcoat. "It's the only reason they've kept him alive this long. We'll have to check around for him. I don't think they'll have asked him to do anything important."

Phipps scoffed, and there was an edge of impatience in the sound. "You keep acting like you know what they're doing, but you haven't said a word."

"My dear Phipps, I have no blasted idea what they mean to do. All  _I_ know is that that fop Fotheringhay will be gibbering in a corner the way he always used to do during fencing practice, and that whatever the rest of our targets are doing, they'll be circling the wagons against the Watchdog. It's the only reason we know about this meeting in the first place, isn't it?"

Phipps pressed his lips together in a disapproving look and said nothing. Grey watched him for a moment—his attachment to his own queer sense of honor was becoming more and more troublesome lately, especially when it came to affairs to do with the Queen's Watchdog—then he crouched, pulled a glove off, and dipped his first two fingers into the nearest pool of blood. Still warm, but just barely. Not quite tacky. Still fresh. The blood droplets—presumably from whoever had done the really quite admirable job of ripping the metal men to pieces—led in a conductorly direction, which meant—"Back that way," he said, and wiped the blood on the automaton's jacket. "We'll try that way first."

Phipps nodded, drew his sword, and let Grey lead.

For the most part, the train was strikingly quiet. The carpet hadn't been disturbed by the crash—it was fixed to the floor, immovable—and so their footsteps were stifled close to silence as Grey and Phipps marched in quick steps down the body of the train, Phipps keeping his eyes on the compartments, Grey staring ahead, waiting for movement. He saw nothing. A few times Phipps paused to take a closer look at what was inside the compartments, but always came out shaking his head. "Empty," he would say, that or "dead," and sometimes he didn't say anything at all. Grey didn't ask.

They were about halfway down the train when they heard the gunshots. Three of them, like muffled thuds, so quiet that Grey thought they were bangs at first, fists against compartment doors, a desperate passenger trying to get away from a metal monster. Then, ahead, a door banged open, and a figure staggered, out, middling height, at such a distance as to be nondescript. Phipps and Grey went still, stepping into the shadows, blending. They had orders.  _No matter what_ , she'd said,  _no matter what, you_ must  _get what we came for. And you_ must not be seen.  _Not by anyone who you can't trust. Do you understand?_

Clear enough. So they let the man go. It made Phipps clench his hand so tight around his sword that the bones of his knuckles shone white through his skin, but they did. Grey buffed his nails against his coat as he waited. There was blood crusted under the lip of the thumbnail. It looked dark in the flickering light of the single gaslamp that remained burning. As soon as the door out of the train shut, he reached up and extinguished it with a licked thumb. They were safer in the dark. "We should go."

"I want to check," said Phipps, stubbornly, and Grey rolled his eyes.

"Of course you do."

For once, though, Phipps didn't wait around for the sarcasm. Whatever was going on with this case was rubbing off on him, Grey thought uneasily, as he followed his partner a few compartments down and paused in the doorway. He wasn't sure he liked it, but Phipps was different. The same, of course, but very subtly different. It was making things difficult.

The body lay supine on the floor of the car, dark hair scattered over her face, eyes closed, blood dribbling out the corner of the mouth. Had he stopped to look, Grey might have recognized her. There was that prickling memory in the back of his head, a girl he might have seen before during their surveillance of the Middleford house. Still, he paused over her for the slightest moment before turning to Phipps. "Dead, I think."

"Alive," said Phipps, and when Grey looked again, sure enough, the girl was breathing. Barely, the air catching in her lungs and blood bubbling on her lips, but breathing all the same. Phipps stripped off his jacket, putting it over the girl's shoulders so that the hole in her back could no longer be seen. It had been a clean shot through her chest, and the bullet, Grey saw, had stuck in the door. It was why the compartment door wouldn't open all the way.

"Leave it," said Grey, and stood. "There's nothing we can do."

Phipps looked at him, not a glare, not a scowl, just a look, and it was really the only sort of look he could get from his partner that could ever make Grey doubt himself. He sniffed a bit, and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no point in staying. The girl would be dead in a minute anyway. Besides, every moment they tarried, their quarry was getting further and further away. Phipps knew it. They  _both_ knew it. "If you want to ruin everything to watch one girl choke on her own blood—"

"It's human decency."

"It's not what we're here for!"

"It's better than letting her die alone."

Grey goggled. Phipps was  _never_ like this. He'd never disobeyed before, never gone against a direct order from the queen. "What's that Parker girl done to you?"

"Nothing," Phipps said, and he pulled the jacket higher on the dying girl's shoulders. "I just have sisters at home."

Grey opened his mouth to say something, to ridicule, to spit, but then Phipps went stiff as bone, his eyes fixed on something in the doorway, every muscle frozen, a deer ready to bolt. Grey shifted, and the saber was in his hand before he turned.

The boy who stood in the corridor was shorter than he was, Grey thought, with sharply cut glasses and curious blonde hair. His eyes were an impossible shade of electric green; they flickered over Grey and Phipps and landed on the girl, and as Grey watched, the boy grimaced. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Damn. I was really hoping it wouldn't be her."

Grey lifted his sword, pressing the tip lightly to the boy's jugular, but the blonde didn't seem to notice; he was watching the dying girl, a strange expression in his eyes. It was almost disappointment. Then Grey poked him, and as blood welled up against his throat, the boy turned. " _What_?"

"Who the hell are you?" Out of the corner of his eye, Grey saw Phipps stand once more, blood on his hands and a sword halfway out of its sheath. The boy looked at Grey for a long, indiscernible moment; then he snorted, knocked Grey's sword away, and turned. It hadn't fazed him at all.

"Spears! She's not dead yet."

Another man paused in the corridor, cast in shades of darkness. "She's on the list. Leave her."

"I liked this one," said the boy, and out in the corridor, the man in the spectacles rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. He said nothing, however. Instead, he simply continued down the train, here and then gone, a ghost. All that was left was the blonde boy, who turned back to Phipps and Grey and blinked. "What are you still doing here?"

"Who the hell are you?" Grey snapped again, but the boy just grinned. He knocked into Grey's shoulder as he passed him.

"Different than you, that's for sure. Don't you two have business elsewhere?"

"I don't think you understand," Grey said, and he lifted his sword again, tapping the tip against the boy's glasses. Phipps gritted his teeth, but said nothing. "I asked you a question, and where I come from, when I ask people questions, they answer them, unless they want a saber through the belly."

The boy looked at him, and for the first time, Grey saw something in those strange electric eyes that made him nervous. This boy couldn't have been more than seventeen, but there was something strange about him, and familiar. Something that reminded him of the Watchdog's butler. There was a hint of…agelessness, somehow, and deep, endless darkness. The boy had something more, however, some acrid sharpness, a cockiness where Michaelis didn't. Grey couldn't quite explain why, but it bothered him. Immensely.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, human," said the boy, and again he lifted his hand, and again he knocked the sword away without a qualm. Grey knew he should lift again, lift and lunge, but he didn't move as the blonde boy knelt by the body's head, and put his gloved hands on her shoulders, turning her over slowly. There was a hint of concern in him now, of care, that hadn't been there before. "There you are. How are you feeling?"

Something clicked in Grey's mind. His mouth twisted. "I should have known. It's the whore. Come for a last session before she drops off?"

Phipps grabbed his shoulder. His fingers dug in.  _Too far, Grey, too far._  Down by the whore's head, the blonde boy's mouth tightened, and without a word, he stood. There was a flicker of movement. Then Grey felt a hand on his throat, and his feet left the ground. A rough tumble through the air, and he landed flat on his back in the main corridor, and Phipps was standing and staring at the blonde man, jacketless, the whore wrapped in blood and Phipp's coat. Phipps hesitated, but only for a moment. He stepped back, and gave a short bow.

"I apologize for my companion. We shall take our leave now."

The blonde sniffed. "You'd better."

Phipps left the compartment. The door slammed behind him without any movement from the man. Then he seized Grey by the wrists, wrenching him to his feet, a chilly fury hidden in his eyes. "Come on."

They walked. Finally, when they stopped, Grey had his breath back. He swallowed, and swallowed again, and then said, in a hoarse and angry voice, "I— _hate_ —Phantomhive's—cases."

Phipps gave him a sarcastic look, and then kicked open the door to the next car. "Get over it, Grey. We're going to be late."

Theodore hated running. He could remember a time when it had been nothing more than a game. After all, he'd never really had to run in anything other than play, when he'd chased his mischievous little sister around the garden, around and around the rosebushes. He didn't think she remembered that, but he did. They'd been running like that when the news had first come in that Mother's Gabriel was missing, and he'd seen all the life and the color and the hope go out of Olivia's face in an instant, like it had been stolen.

Fee had always been the better runner. Now that her legs were better, now that she could run and run without her muscles straining or her body screaming or her lungs struggling to keep up, she could sprint forever and he would never be able to catch up. The only reason he'd been able to keep her in sight was that she was staggering. He wasn't sure why, and it was setting sick curling terror to an unsettling boil in his stomach. They'd left the train who knew how long ago, running through the empty fields, and even though there was no moonlight he could track her through the shine of her pale hair. "Felicity, wait!"

For a moment she slowed; her hand went to her throat; she looked back. Then she made a soft frightened noise and took off again, her braids coming undone and her hair shimmering out behind her. It was a sick game of chase, nothing and everything like that day so long ago. He didn't even know why she was running. He'd gone to the compartment he'd known the Zodiac would be in—first class, number thirteen, just like always—and the instant he'd opened the door, Felicity had leaped to her feet and looked at him with wide eyes, alarm written in every muscle, every bone. She had not wanted him there. She had been scared of him, and the thought made him wonder if he'd done the right thing. He'd sat with the Director, made his apologies, told him lies mixed with truth—enough to keep Lizzy alive, enough to wreck the plan but hopefully to keep them all safe—and then the Director had said something, sensed something, and the whole train had gone mad. When he'd looked up, Felicity had run off, and he hadn't even bothered to look back at the rest of the Zodiac before going after her. She was his burden and always had been. His responsibility. His curse.

 _She's my sister,_  he thought, and despite everything, he grit his teeth and ran faster.

"Fee, damn you,  _wait_!"

She stopped. Felicity stopped so suddenly that Theo nearly crashed into her; he seized her shoulders to steady himself, and the shocking coldness of her skin almost made him stumble. He was certain he'd squeezed too hard, but she'd been sturdier than he'd realized for a very long time—that or she'd become more fragile than he ever could have imagined, because when she turned to look at him her eyes were flickering with pain and fear. Slowly, he let her go. "I just want to talk t'you, dammit."

"So?" she said, and her voice was hoarse from running. "Talk and then go 'way."

"Why're you actin' like this?" Damn it all. He'd worked so hard on getting rid of the accent. It was so difficult to be taken seriously in England with a Texas drawl. Fee pulled it right back out of him. "F'r God's sake, Fee, you know me. What've I—"

Something struck him in the chest. Hands. Her fingers were freezing. He rocked back on his heels automatically, because when Fee was angry it was what she always did—she always struck out, she always punched, slapped, kicked, and you just had to ride out the storm. She hit him again and again, and he felt a rib protest. She was stronger than she looked. Always had been. Even before the operation—the operations, he remembered, because she'd demanded enhancements everywhere once she'd realized she could handle it, probably like no one else could—she'd been stronger than any girl her size had had a right to be. Felicity hit him again, but before she could pull back, he caught her wrists. "Darlin', what've I done?"

She looked up at him, and for the first time in over a year, he saw tears glistening in her eyes. The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, sudden and stark. The new Felicity would have never let herself cry. The old Fee, though, his sister Fee: she would have. "You left me," she said, and the tear rolled down her cheek like a gossamer thread. "Damn you, Theo, you  _left_. Cutter said you were  _dead_ , that the automata had gone wild and killed you, and I didn't believe him because I  _know_ how much he hates you, but then they said you were with that bitch and I didn't know what to believe and you didn't even let me  _know—_ "

He could only stand there and stare at her for a moment. She was boiling over with worries and fears, and she tucked her head into the crook of his neck and he felt the tears from her one good eye leak down onto his shirt collar. Theodore took a shaky breath— _please, God, don't let this be fake—_ and then he put his arms around his sister. "Fee."

"—half the time I don't even know what's goin' on anymore, and I don't understand anythin' at all, it feels like everything's in this—this black haze, and I don't know if I even—" She was babbling, her voice muffled in the cloth of his shirt. "I thought you'd come to kill me—"

"Hey." He bent down, cupped her head in his hands, wiped the tears away. Fee blinked at him. "I would never hurt you. You're my kid sister. I would  _never_  hurt you. You know that."

"Daddy did," she said, and his heart went cold. "Daddy came and—" Fee choked, and then her voice deepened, roughened, soured. " _Where is he, you little witch? I know you know where she's hiding him._ "

Slowly, Theodore lowered his hands to her shoulders, and he listened to all of it, in vivid mimicry, his father's rough and rasping voice, his sister's voice as a child, high and piping. She even managed the sound of shattering glass, the desperate scream, and when her eyes cleared again he could feel dampness on his cheeks. It was what he'd never wanted to imagine. Never wanted to admit or think about. That dark spot on the family, the secret he'd never spoken of to anyone other than Elizabeth and her damned Watchdog, but now it was out and scalding him clean. Fee looked at him, and her eyes went hazy. "Theodore?"

"Fee?"

She shook her head a few times. "I don't know what's happening. It's all comin' apart, the string's unravelin' and I don't—I don't  _know—_ "

"Felicity, listen to me." She looked up at him again, and Theo took a deep breath. "I'm here to take you away."

Silence for a moment. Then she licked her lips. "What?"

"We can go away from here. It doesn't matter where. We can get out of here, we can escape. The Zodiac doesn't need us anymore, you know that. They've done what they wanted, they have what they came for. We've helped them enough, don't you think?" Wordlessly, she nodded. Theodore squeezed her shoulders. "We can leave, Fee. We can go anywhere. We can go home, if you want. We can go somewhere else. We can finish it."

"We can forget," she added, and his heart lifted.

"Exactly. All of it. We can forget all of it. We can forget about all of them, Cutter and the rest. It won't matter anymore. Everything. Away from Watchdogs and monsters and death." He brushed a strand of hair out of her mismatched eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Mm." She hesitated for a moment. "What about the Director?"

He paused. "What about him?"

"We have to wait for him." There it was, the shadow spreading over her eyes again. He was losing her. Theo shook his head.  _No. No no no. Don't you dare leave me now, Felicity Anne Parker._  "We need to—"

"We don't need to do  _anythin'_  for that son of a bitch," said Theodore, and Felicity looked up at him with such shock on her face that he couldn't stop. "It's all his fault, Fee, all of it, Mama, what happened with Father, it was all him, can't you see it? I dunno what he's done t'you, but I swear to God, I can fix it. I'll find out a way to fix you, Fee. This time without—without angels and demons and  _magic_. I thought Phantomhive's demon would—" But that dream was gone now, that way of destroying Ramiel left to others, and Theo shook his head. "I don't give a damn if that bastard lives or d—"

Cold. A sliver of ice in his stomach. Theodore froze. The blade of Felicity's dagger was driven hilt deep, and he could feel the blood on his skin as she pulled away, hands streaked with red. She looked at him, her face filled with fading horror, and then Fee was gone. Felicity was back, and she wiped her hands on her dark skirt as he fell to his knees, looking at him with a look that was reminiscent of a hawk surveying its prey.

She didn't even speak. She simply left him there in the wheat, and Theodore knelt by the rocks and looked at the dagger in his belly, and he wondered where it had all gone wrong.

* * *

 

"What are they doing?"

Sebastian stood atop the train car, quite still, like a hound about to strike. Hidden amongst the wheat, Ciel kept his eyes narrowed, trying to peer into the darkness of the fields. It had been late afternoon when the train had crashed, he thought, and it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes since then, but something had sapped all the light from the world. He remembered Elizabeth's description of the Director and his bubble of time, of greyness and silence, and wondered if that had happened here, too. If so, a great many people still alive on the train would be very confused. None of that mattered particularly at the moment. He glanced up at the demon, and tilted his head. He'd left the eyepatch behind in the compartment, and it felt very strange to be able to look at Sebastian with both eyes. No wonder Fotheringhay had been so terrified when Ciel had looked him right in the face. "Well?"

"They're waiting, I believe," said Sebastian, and he dropped down beside Ciel again, as though the height of the train was nothing more than a drop from a bench. "For us, or for their compatriots. I doubt that Ramiel cares much at all about Fotheringhay, considering how no one has been sent to look for him, but he will not leave without at least one of the Parkers."

"And the other will probably be tagging along," Ciel replied, and grimaced. He should have killed Theodore Parker back in the Cutter manorhouse, back when he'd had the chance. He glanced up at Sebastian again.

"She's alive," Sebastian said, answering his unspoken question. "Tied up, wounded, but alive. They will be using her as bait, my lord."

"Well, that's obvious."  _And precisely the sort of situation I wished to avoid._  He shoved that thought out of his head. "How far off are they?"

"Ten minutes. Less if we run."

"You mean if you run," corrected Ciel, and rubbed the end of his nose thoughtfully with one finger. "Can you destroy him?"

"His vassals are fewer than they were before." It wasn't an answer, nor was it a particularly encouraging reply. Still, when Ciel looked at him, Sebastian's eyes were gleaming red with anticipation. "It will be interesting."

"You have not failed me yet," Ciel told him, and the unspoken half of the sentence—the  _if you do, there will be no reproach, because we will all be dead_ —weighed heavily in the air between them. Then Sebastian turned to Ciel, and knelt down on one knee, a sudden flutter of movement that nearly made Ciel take a step back. It had been so long since Sebastian had pledged fealty in this way—even longer, he thought, than he could remember. The butler crossed one arm over his chest.

"As you wish, my lord."

Silence for a moment. Then someone laughed. Sebastian was off the ground and standing in front of Ciel before Ciel had even cataloged the sound as human; when he did, however, his mouth twisted. "Grey."

"Aye," said Charles Grey, and swept them both a mocking bow. "A touching scene, my lord. But I believe your lovely cousin is in a spot of trouble."

"We are all in a spot of trouble," Ciel replied, and behind his back, he clenched his hands together into fists. Sebastian must have sensed his consternation, because he stepped aside, no longer serving as a shield. The day that Ciel Phantomhive would be beaten by Charles Grey was the same day that Sebastian would become an angel. "The difference is you two have no reason to be here."

Phipps stepped out from his hiding place between the cars, his coppery hair glinting in the light of the fire from the conductor's car. He looked….not regretful, precisely, but resigned. There was a hint of feeling in his eyes that Ciel had never seen there before. To his surprise, Phipps inclined his head to the both of them. "My lord."

Ciel glanced at Grey. The silver-haired swordsman said nothing, but made a disapproving noise deep in his throat. Everyone ignored it. "Mr. Phipps. Might I ask what you're doing here?"

Phipps said nothing. Grey, however, smiled. "You have such interesting eyes now, Earl Phantomhive. I doubt the Queen would approve."

Ciel almost covered his eye. Then he gave it up. There was no point, not now, perhaps not ever again. If they failed, then….well, he supposed it didn't matter. And even if the Charles spread the rumor of the Phantomhive butler being a demon, which, even if Phipps did not, Grey was sure to do, then it would only serve to enhance the terror of the Watchdog.

"If you insist on complimenting me, Grey, you might as well choose something I actually care about."

Grey sniffed, but inclined his head a bit.  _Point._ "Well, we  _were_ trying to be quiet about our presence on board. However, we've searched the ship and lost sight of our quarry, so I thought, despite the Queen's inevitable temper, that it would be best to…inquire after our target."

"The Director is mine."

"And that we won't deny. We know how you feel about your prey. You're the Queen's little Watchbitch, after all." Ciel had the feeling that Grey would soon reach forward and pat his head. If he tried, then Grey would forfeit that hand. "We want something different."

Phipps looked away. It was subtle, but it was there. Ciel watched him for a moment— _he is someone to observe_ —and then his eyes flicked back to Grey. "The silence of the passengers?"

"I rather think that they will be simple to silence." Grey shook his head. "No. What we want—I'm sorry, I should say, what the  _Queen_ wants is the delightful little blonde madwoman."

"No," said Ciel, and his voice was as hard and as brittle as glass. "Not Elizabeth."

"Why on earth would she want your silly cousin?" Grey sniffed again, and Ciel dug his nails into his palms so hard his hands shook. "No, we want the machinist. Her brother too, if we can get him."

Ciel crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled, thin and dangerous. "What do I get out of it?"

"Nothing," Grey replied, and he forced himself to smile. "We are not asking for permission, little terrier. The Queen has given us orders. Unfortunately, those orders included informing you of the situation in order to garner your assistance."

"The Queen has expressed a certain interest in Miss Parker's…we shall call them toys, if you like." It was Phipps, his voice sudden and low in the artificial night. "With us, the Parker siblings would be safer than they could ever be on their own. Through the materials that would be afforded to them, and the assistance of certain parties, it is possible that one could find a…resolution to their current predicament."

"Regardless." Grey waved his hand dismissively. "If you assist us in this, we would assist you with your… assignment, if you can call it that. That is, if you are not too proud to accept our helping hands, Lord Watchdog."

His mind was unraveling. He had little time and less ability to decide, especially with the smell of blood and smoke thick in the air and the barrier of the eyepatch torn away. Ciel flicked his eyes to Sebastian, but then away. It was his decision, after all.

There was no real negative repercussion to allowing the Double Charles to have the Parkers. They would not harm them, and despite his promise to Parker, Theodore would have betrayed them at the drop of a hat if it were not for Elizabeth. Allowing them to wander Europe, possibly the world, was not the most convenient situation, either. Still, something stuck in his throat at working with Charles Grey, most especially for this sort of end.

Time stretched on. After a moment, Sebastian cleared his throat. "I would advise, my lord, to decide quickly. Ramiel is aware of our presence here. The longer we wait, the more impatient he becomes, and the more dangerous it becomes for our allies."

 _Elizabeth_. Ciel hesitated. If she heard about any of this, she would be devastated. Even if Parker had betrayed them, there was a certain amount of…friendship, perhaps, that would linger with her. She was too soft for this sort of work, no matter what she thought. Then he remembered the hard, determined look on her face in the train compartment, and before.

_Why can't you see that I am not Little Lizzy anymore?_

She would be fine. He was certain of it. Besides, there was no time left.

"Take them," he said, and turned. "We have real work to do."

* * *

 

"Ah."

It was the first noise anyone had made in over twenty minutes. They'd finally settled under a tree a few thousand feet further than they had been before; the Director was leaning against the trunk, watching the train, and out of the corner of her eye she could see flickering light in the conductor's car. Something had caught fire.  _The coals must have caught on the oil of the lamp_ , she thought. Elizabeth lifted her head without thinking, glancing back at the Orient Express. For a moment, she thought she saw someone, a familiar figure, standing on top of one of the few cars that had remained upright. Her heart leapt into her throat.  _Sebastian?_

The Director spoke again. "Felicity is coming."

Something in the Director relaxed then, some tension that Lizzy hadn't noticed before. When Felicity emerged from the wheat, her hair tangled around her shoulders, soot and dampness smeared over her cheeks, he stepped forward. "Hello, my dear."

"Director," she said, and curtsied, a lovely smile prickling at the edges of her lips. There was blood staining the front of her dress. The automata seemed to orient themselves to her presence, turning just slightly to keep her in sight. It was as though she was a magnet. Then she caught Lizzy's eye, and the look vanished. "What is that bitch doing here?"

"I had rather hoped that the others would come for her, but it seems they cannot get up the courage to come and face us." The Director's voice was smooth as caramel, content with his lot. Felicity tucked herself close to him, and Elizabeth couldn't help it. Behind her gag, she spat hate.  _Your brother has been so worried, and this is how you repay him?_  "Where is Theodore?"

It was as though some wafer-thin mask had been peeled away, only for an instant, but the look of panic and pain on Felicity's face made Lizzy's heart jolt in her chest. Terror curled in her stomach. Ciel was still in the train, Colleen was…not here, and now Theodore was missing. Perhaps worse. Her eyes fixed on the blood on Felicity's skirt, and stayed there. After a moment, Theodore's sister regained control of herself, and became the Director's once again. "He has made his choice."

The Director blew one long breath out of his nose. "I am saddened. What of the others?"

"Fotheringhay is still in the train. Whether he is alive or dead, no one seems to know. There are two men assisting the Watchdog, one with silver hair in a conductor's uniform, the other rather nondescript. I assume they have been previously acquainted. I have met the nondescript one before; he attempted to spy on us during our time in hiding."

The Director shifted. "Why was he not eliminated?"

"His soul, Director." Felicity brushed her hair back out of her eyes, exposing the scar. "I rather thought you would approve of it."

"Ah." The Director smiled, and it was a smile of such breathtaking beauty and affection that even Elizabeth could feel it, prickling down her spine. "You always know, my dear."

Felicity beamed at him. "Where is Cutter?"

"Working. There are three souls left to collect, and he is gathering one of them. It should not take him much longer. The second we will have soon, if you would be so good as to bring your nondescript gentleman here."

"And the third?"

"Easy enough to obtain." He tucked an arm around Felicity's waist, and she leaned into him. They looked so similar in that moment, despite their differences, that Elizabeth had to blink. "We are almost there."

Then his eyes snapped to Shirakawa, and all happiness was gone from his face.

"Shirakawa, help me get the lovely Miss Middleford ready."

Her whole world cracked at the seams. Elizabeth shrieked behind her gag, and began to writhe, but Shirakawa's hands were back on her shoulders again, digging into her skin, into the cut from the automata, and the automata were holding her too, until all she could feel was hands, dozens of them, holding her as still as they could as she shrieked and bucked and screamed and tried her best to move, to wriggle free, to run. She screamed names behind the gag,  _Mama_ and  _Papa_ and  _Ed_  and  _Sebastian_ and  _Ciel_ , but the hands were implacable, remorseless, and they laid her down on a bed of bodies, of the automata who had gone down on hands and knees to make a sort of ghastly operating table. Even when Shirakawa untied her wrists to retie them to the arms and legs of the automata she lay on, kicking and wailing through the cloth, she  _could not get free_.

They tore open the top of her dress. Not too much, only to her collarbone, but it was enough to bare her shoulders and a nice clean circle of skin, away from the blood of the cut. The Director stood over her, and despite every instinct Elizabeth went still, looking up at him. She could feel her heart in her throat, and it was pounding so hard that she could barely hear his voice. But the words seemed to cut through the noise into her head like knives, echoing weirdly into the distance.

"Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth," said the Director, and then he placed the silver half-sphere of the soul-catcher against her bare skin.


	38. His Partner, Vengeful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: violence. Obvs.

Theodore had decided the instant he hit the ground that having a hole poked in his gut by his little sister was not the most advantageous situation he'd ever been in.

First of all, it hurt. A hell of a lot more than he'd ever anticipated such a wound would, and he'd spent more time imagining different kinds of wounds, different kinds of pain, then he ever would have expected before his mother had died. He'd been damn lucky, he decided, after finally forcing himself to pull the knife from his side and slip two fingers into his own belly, feeling around for damage. It hurt like all kinds of hell, but it didn't feel like anything was punctured, ruptured, sliced, or otherwise ruined. Not on the inside, at least. Luck was on his side tonight, the way it hadn't been for the past few months. Few years. Who knew how long Luck had deserted him? Maybe from birth. She was, after all, one of the most fickle of sluts.

Theodore rolled over onto his back and stared at the afternoon sky, which was black as pitch and just as heavy. The movement sent a bolt of lightning from his belly to his head, and he lay there panting for a moment, eyes squeezed tight shut, reflecting on how whorish Luck had finally slipped back into his life. Felicity knew how to stab a man—he'd taught her himself. He knew she knew how to kill. The fact that she hadn't, even with such provocation— _shouldn't have called the bastard out, dammit_ —meant that a bit of her was still there. Despite the pain, relief hit him like a ton of bricks. He hadn't realized until that moment, that exact moment, lying bloody on the ground, how much he had been afraid of the idea that Fee was gone, and that Felicity had taken her place.

 _Reevaluate your options._  Despite the pain and the frustration, despite the hatred boiling in his gut, his father was talking in his head again, the way Augustus always had, and for once, he actually had good advice.  _Consider what you have available to you, and then use it. Find your advantages, and keep your disadvantages hidden as best you can, because there will be others who will use them to destroy you if they can._  Not a particularly heartening message to give to a twelve-year-old, but his father had never been the most heartening of men.

Theodore scowled. What were his disadvantages? What did he have to work with? Hole in the belly, which he supposed he could plug somehow. It would hurt like all hell, but he could do it. He would have to get up in a minute, and move, and he could do that, or even if he couldn't he could make himself do it. He didn't have any weapons, which had been phenomenally stupid of him, he supposed; he could find something along the way, maybe. Or steal something. That would work. He would need a weapon, he was certain of that much. He thought that Shirakawa had had a few blades in the compartment they'd shared. There would be other things, too, other weapons that he'd tucked into the box that Phantomhive had offered him to pass for luggage. He could get into that easily enough, especially now that the train was mostly empty. And once he did that, he had a goal.

He had two people he needed to find. That was the reason that would get him up off the ground. Theodore gritted his teeth and opened his eyes again, staring at the velvety, suffocating sky. "Felicity," he said aloud, just to confirm it within himself. There was a ripple of anxiety, of fury, in his stomach, and he nodded in confirmation. "Felicity and Elizabeth."

Elizabeth. He'd meant to avoid Elizabeth. He'd seen the look on her face, that morning in Paris, when they'd shared bread and cheese and grapes and talked about the story he'd never meant to tell her, about Olivia and Ramiel and the storm that had destroyed them. The look in her eyes was haunting him. She trusted him, then. Maybe not absolutely, but she'd trusted him, and she'd offered him her hand, and he'd turned away. He loved her, but he'd turned away, because it was the only thing he would have ever been able to do. Felicity had been his purpose for so long that he would not have been able to turn away from her. If he had taken Elizabeth's hand, if he'd returned that trust, then he would have been turning his back on everything he'd been working for since his mother's death, his father's accident, and his sister's disfigurement.

But when he imagined the look on her face when she realized that he had betrayed them, it felt as though Felicity had driven another knife right through his throat.

 _No helping it now._ He took a breath, and then another, and then forced himself to sit up. It burned like fire in his ribs, but he could sit up.  _Do what you can._  With an effort, he managed to get to his feet, and stumbled a few steps. It hurt—far worse than he'd anticipated—but he could walk. Running was absolutely out of the question, but he could take slow, shuffling steps, and that was better than nothing.  _Get it all done, Parker. Get it done._

He found a stick amongst the wheat, seized it with both hands, and began to walk.

* * *

 

Spear came back a few minutes later, once he was certain that the two humans had gone.

 _Queen's men,_  Knox thought, though of course he couldn't prove it, and after all, he was a reaper, and shouldn't have an interest in such things anyway.

He could feel the older reaper's judging eyes on the back of his neck as he stood over the body of Colleen Murray, watching her struggle to take another breath, and another, and another, each one harder to take, rattling in her chest. Her eyes hadn't opened. He was certain, however, that she knew they were there. She was just saving her strength—for what, he didn't know. But she was trying, and that in and of itself made something in his chest squeeze tighter than it ought to have.

"Her name is on the list," said Spears. His voice was chillier than usual, a tinge of harshness, of coldness, that he usually refused to allow past his determinedly businesslike exterior. "Leave her."

Knox closed his eyes in an effort not to kill something. The rage was sudden, vicious, viscous as oil and just as heavy. He couldn't breathe for a moment. Then he forced it away, and turned to Spears, pushing his usual smile back onto his face.

"I know." God, how he knew it. He couldn't explain why the idea made him feel sick. The whore's death should not have made him ill. The whore dying should not have made him want to kill something. He'd seen much worthier people die and never felt a jot for them; he'd watched babies slip away in their mothers' arms and had not been moved. Still, he could feel vengeance in his fingertips. He clenched his hands.

"Then act like it," William snapped. "And for pity's sake, don't do anything stupid. I don't want to have to put you on probation again."

With that, William Spears snapped his book shut, and stalked away. Knox kept his hands clenched into fists. He watched as the girl's back shuddered up and down. Blood had already soaked through the tall man's jacket, leaving a dark shining patch in the fabric. She was barely breathing. He could feel her heartbeat though, slowing, twisting in his stomach. He crouched by her head.

"Hello, spark."

Her eyelashes fluttered. For the first time in a very long time, Knox didn't hesitate, didn't worry about the consequences; he reached forward and brushed the girl's hair back up out of her face. Even if the heat of his fingers made her hiss, she wouldn't be able to feel it for that much longer anyway. She blinked at him slowly, and blood bubbled in the corner of her mouth. She swallowed a few times, and then closed her eyes again. "…dead?"

"Not yet." He hesitated, and then grasped her by the shoulders, pushing her over onto her back. After all, she would be beyond any real pain now. "But close."

"No." She winced, forced her eyes open again. "Cutter. Is Cutter dead?"

There was desperation in her eyes. Too much blood on the floor to be just hers. No other body. Knox glanced at the door to the compartment, and then shook his head, and there was a sudden ragged gasp, something that might have been called a sob. She squeezed her eyes shut again, clenched her fists. "Damn it," she said, and this was the last of it, her life was running through his fingers, the last dash of energy before the end. " _Damn it_."

She began to cry. Tears trickled through her lashes, cutting paths through the blood, and deep in his belly, something clenched. Ronald Knox realized he had one of her hands in his still, and she was getting blood on his gloves, but for the first time in almost a century, he really couldn't care less. Colleen opened her eyes again, staring at something over his head, something he couldn't see, and her lips moved. Over and over and over.  _I'm sorry._

Knox held her hand until she died, and he kept holding it. He watched as her eyes closed, as the tears stopped, as her chest slowed and stilled. He felt her pulse end, and it was as though something in the air had shattered, as though something inside him had been snatched away. The spark was gone. Her soul was there, flickering bright and sapphire-white, but her life was gone.

Knox stood, collected his scythe, and cut.

Her cinematic record sprang to life, spiraling and short, flares of pain and joy in equal measure, all in shades of blue. A mother's love. A father's death. An uncle's blows. A Dublin factory. A London whorehouse. Rosie. The Sparrow. Phantomhive. Middleford. And Cutter, the taste of him, the smell, the  _hate_ flowed into him, pure and bright and raw, the desperation, the rush towards destruction. No fear of death. Simply the hunt for vengeance, the pure need for justice. Not for herself. Never for herself. For the others. For the ones she'd loved. Nothing more than that, nothing less.

_No wonder we called her a spark._

Something wet and warm slipped down his cheek. He ignored it. As the cinematic record vanished, and his scythe condensed between his hands, Ronald Knox looked first at the body of Colleen Murray, then at the list of names in his pocketbook, and then he decided.

"Damn you," he said to Spears, "and damn your rules," and he pulled off his gloves.

* * *

 

It was like they were drowning her, and there was no escape.

Lizzy couldn't breathe. The air was being sucked from her lungs. It was as though they were pressing her to death, the way they had done to witches all those years ago, put a board on her and levered rocks on until she could feel her ribs snapping and her lungs flattening and her organs bursting, but there was no weight other than the light touch of the metal against her chest. It prickled, nothing more, but there was such terrible pain, an agony that she could not describe, worse than the Numbness, worse than anything she had ever felt before, hot knives laid against her bare soul. It felt as though blood was being drawn from her every pore. Her eyes had already gone dark—or had she simply closed them? She had no idea. There was only the endlessness of it, which drove everything out of her head, every thought, every memory, every jot of who she was, as the chunk of metal fashioned by a man and crafted by an angel tore her body and soul apart.

It lasted forever, but it could have ended in an instant. There was a faint sense, under the pain, of a loosening; as though something was being drawn out of her, the knots that held it in place working free, stubborn fingers picking at the strands that wove her together, kept her human, kept her whole. Lizzy clenched her knees up against her chest, or tried to—cold hands wrapped around her ankles and kept her flat on her back, preventing her from curling in on herself, from protecting whatever precious thing was floating inside her, because she couldn't even remember what it was, now. There was only the pain, and the desperate sense that something was being stolen from her that should have never even been touched, let alone taken.

She wailed. Someone covered her mouth. Lizzy dug her teeth into the man's fingers and tasted metal and cold, congealed blood. Her teeth hurt. Rot coated her tongue. She spat it out, or tried to; the hand didn't budge, not an inch. Her whole body was screaming, and she couldn't think through the pain, couldn't come up with a solution, couldn't fight back. There was only the agony and the desperation, and her soul was trembling in her throat. _No!_

An image flashed through her mind. Ciel standing, facing her, Sebastian shadowy as a raven behind him. Ciel in a wheelchair, eyes blank, body living, mind empty. Soulless. An automaton. She'd never thought she'd become that first.

The knots were fraying. They were almost gone. Over her, she saw bronze eyes and a pale womanish face. The Director. Ramiel. His hand touched her cheek. It burned, like a bee sting, like a brand. "I'm sorry, my dear."

 _No, you're not_. She wanted to say it, but the automaton was still covering her mouth and her throat was convulsing with the taste of rotting blood. Darkness flickered around the edges of her sight. Her whole body began to relax. The knots were almost free. When she closed her eyes, she heard a voice whispering in her ear, vaguely familiar.  _Hold on, Miss. We'll be there soon._

Sebastian, she thought, and wondered if that was another thing demons could do, stick their voices in places where they weren't wanted. She wondered what her soul would look like. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, like cramps, but not quite. She was almost gone.

There was a shout—" _NO!_ "—and then the Director had snapped away from her, his spine arching, head whipping back, mouth falling open in a sudden surprised  _O_  of pain. The soul-catcher was ripped off her skin, and her eyes flew open as she sucked in a long, ragged breath and began to choke. She could barely see. When she blinked, it all came clear.

A blade protruded up from the center of his chest, long and curved and soaked in dark blood, and it was like something she had once seen Soma wear in Marseilles, when they'd gone to a costume party, and why was she thinking about the south of France when she could feel her soul bubbling in her throat and her lungs stuttering in her chest and oh, God, if they didn't pull her out of here she was going to die. The Director snarled; Felicity shrieked; Shirakawa had vanished into the crowd, and a terrible buzz was coming from the Scarabs, metal wings shuddering against each other, creating a dreadful chorus. Then the automata were gone, and she hit the ground with a thump. Elizabeth sat up, choking and hacking, just in time to see the Director whip his arm around and slam his hand against the side of Theodore's head.

There was a sudden, echoing crack. No blood. No tears. Theodore's eyes were wide and green as he folded, landing on the ground in a puddle, blood on his shirt and his head twisted awkwardly to the side. She couldn't understand why he wasn't getting up. The moment seemed to hang in the air, pure crystalline silence. Then Felicity screamed, long and loud, a terrible aching note that ripped at her ears. Her hair had fallen back and her mismatched eyes were wide with panic; Elizabeth could see the scar down the side of her face, a palm-sized patch of raised and pitted flesh, raked with years-old scratches from the glass of a window, and the remains of her tattered ear. It was the first time Lizzy had seen the scarring, and it seemed to steal her gaze. But then Felicity screamed again, a name,  _Theodore_ , as she scrambled forward, a terrible ripping noise coming from her dress. Lizzy remembered that Theo hadn't stood up, and why hadn't Theodore scrambled to his feet yet?

The Director was on the ground beside him, pushing Theo over onto his back with an expression that Elizabeth had never seen before, achingly  _raw_ , and Shirakawa was standing by his side, and they were all distracted for a single blessed moment, she could run if she tried, but Theodore was still just lying there, flat on the ground, and Elizabeth couldn't have moved even if she'd wanted to.  _Get up_ , she willed him,  _get up before they kill you_ , but he didn't move. He'd never been quiet for this long before. Something cold trickled down her spine.

Then she felt the hands, an arm snapping tight around her waist and fingers covering her mouth, and she would have bitten then if she hadn't seen the heavy ring on the index finger, silver and sapphire, and known it was Ciel. She could still taste dead blood in her mouth. He pulled her back flush against his chest and began to drag her away, as quickly as he could with her knees buckling and the automata crowding around them, bristling like a huge school of vicious fish, a wave of silvery clicks and mechanical whirs. For a moment they were curiously frozen, letting them pass by, but as Felicity opened her mouth and screamed again they turned to towards the Zodiac, huddled on the grass, an army flecked with blood and soot and oil. They lifted their faces to the sky, and as one, began to keen, a terrible metallic sound that scraped against the skin of all who heard.

Elizabeth didn't realize any of that. She couldn't see any of it. There was a curious rushing noise in her ears, and all she could feel were Ciel's hands around her waist and the curious thud of her heart in her ears, heavy, swollen, as she waited for Theodore to shake his head, struggle to his feet, and get his stupid bloody sister to shut her stupid bloody mouth. Even when the crowd closed in around him, and the Director, and Felicity, she kept her eyes where she knew he was, willing him, praying.  _Get up._

They were still moving, she realized, Ciel dragging her backwards and she stumbling along behind him, until they were beyond the circle of light that seemed to have been cast around the Director and his fellows. A few dozen feet at most. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of motion, of blood—Cutter, surging out of the wheat and seizing Felicity by the wrists, only to be thrust away by the automata—but she didn't care.  _No_ , Lizzy thought, and it felt as though she was being weighed down by something terrible, worse than the soul-catcher, worse than anything she'd felt before except for the Numbness after the loss of Ciel.  _He can't be dead. Colleen can't be dead. I can't lose them._

The hand had fallen from her mouth. She licked her lips. "Theodore," she said, and Ciel's hands tightened around her, but he didn't try to shut her up. He'd pulled her far enough away that they were beside Sebastian once more, and he was standing before them, waiting for someone to notice them, a pair of knives glinting like shards of ice in his hands. Elizabeth didn't care. "Theodore," she said again, and her voice went shrill. "Damn you, Theo, _get up_!"

No answer. He'd never not answered her before.

For an instant, she felt her hand on his cheek, smearing blood against his skin, in the basement of Cutter's manorhouse. The automata bristling around them, Colleen and Snake and Ciel at her back. She'd reached forward and touched him, and even as he held his sister closer, he'd leaned into the touch, as though he'd thought it would never happen again.  _I don't want to ever see you again, Elizabeth._

Theodore watching her at the Sandford twins' birthday, his hand at his collar, and suddenly she remembered the silver mark she'd seen later, the brand that marked Ciel as well, different yet the same. The words twining his skin in Latin.  _A caelo usque ad centrum._  He'd looked at her with such disbelief, and  _hope_ , like he'd thought she was unreal. Like he'd seen something he'd been searching for.

The Director, curt, unfeeling.  _Theodore is in love with you, you know._  She'd never quite believed it. But he had seen her on the bed of automata, he had lunged forward, and now he was lying on his back staring up at the preternaturally dark sky, and she didn't know if he would ever see a cloud again. 

Something hot was streaking down her cheeks. It felt like blood. It might have been tears.  _No. No. No._ She fell to her knees in the wheat and she couldn't see him anymore, but the image of Theodore Parker, his head twisted 'round, his green eyes wide and blank and staring, was imprinted in her brain, tattooed in her mind, creeping into her ruined soul.  _NO._

Her voice hurt, her throat ached, her heart broke, but all she could do was clench her hands around the strands of wheat and close her eyes and scream: " _Theodore, get up_!"

But Theodore Parker did not get up. Elizabeth put her head in her hands, and breathed. Even when Ciel crouched beside her, put his arms around her, she didn't move. She couldn't cry. She couldn't even breathe. She was empty.

Theodore Parker was dead, and it was all her fault.

She felt a touch on her cheek, and caught the scent of smoke. Cigarette smoke. Theodore had rarely smoked, but there had been a few times, in Dorking, when she'd caught him with one in his hand. She caught her breath and looked up, but she saw nothing. Only a distant black figure with a long staff, standing quite still and watching the chaos. When he turned, she caught a glint of glasses. Then he turned, and vanished into the wheat.

Ciel's arms fell away from her. She wasn't sure if it was because she'd moved, or because of the distant figure. Beside them, Sebastian had shifted into a fluid crouch, watching them, and he looked more demon in this moment than he ever had before. Even in the Parisian kitchen. He studied Elizabeth's face.

"Grief," he said, and then paused. "And anger." The corner of his mouth tilted up, and she caught a glimpse of sharp, sharp teeth. "Good."

A terrible scream rent the night. The automata rippled, shuddered, and whirled, all turning at once. A hole opened up in the crowd, and she could suddenly see. Felicity, her white blonde hair streaked through with blood, had drawn her brother's head up into her lap, and she stroked his hair, keening, rocking over him as though singing some perverse lullaby. The Director stood beside them, the emotion wiped from his face clean as a copper sheet. He reached forward, touched Felicity's shoulder.

"Felicity—"

She shook his hand off her shoulder, and for the first time, Elizabeth saw the Director's eyebrows crease with shock. He looked at Cutter, as though asking him to explain something. Then he reached forward again. "Felicity, my dear, we have to go."

"Don't touch me," she snarled, and her voice was ragged. She looked up, and tears were streaking down her face. "Don't you  _touch me_!"

Something in the air crackled, and the automata rustled together, confused. Elizabeth still didn't know what controlled them, but Felicity was making them uneasy. The Director snapped a command at them in a language that cracked the dark air in two, and they all froze, but only for a moment. Then the strange creaking sound started up again. It was like a herd of demonic crickets. Next to her, she felt Ciel stiffen, and he gripped her wrist with his right hand. His left held the pistol. Looking at it, she remembered the gift from her mother, the little gun which had been taken apart and sewn deep into the lining of her jacket, a last-minute job by Paula in case of emergencies. She tore it off and began to pick at the seams with her fingers.

"Sebastian," said Ciel, and for the first time she heard nervousness in him. Elizabeth seized a piece of glass from the ground, ignoring the blood welling up in her fingers, and began to hack at her jacket. The bullets were there too, sewn one by one into the seam of the sleeves. "What's happening?"

"A nosy question for a creature such as you, Phantomhive." The voice was unfamiliar. Ciel leaped to his feet. Elizabeth looked up, but didn't stop her steady work, ignoring the way her hands shook at the effort. The man from the opera-house, the one that had given Ciel so much consternation, was sitting on a nearby rock with his legs crossed like an Indian yogi, a book in one hand, and a staff propped up against his shoulder. His eyes were glinting green in the dark. "For one that has so little time, you have a perversely curious nature."

It was a vicious jab, and it made Ciel flinch. Elizabeth looked back at her jacket and kept tearing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian stand, and one of his knives twirled between his fingers, a flash of silver in the dark. "Spears."

"Monster," Spears replied, and dipped his head a bit. He closed his book. "Those souls are mine, demon. Don't think of taking them."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Sebastian bared his teeth. Blood smeared across his face. "Here to work, reaper?"

"Rein your dog in, Phantomhive, he vexes me." Spears twirled his staff between his fingers, and the wood made a whistling noise through the dark air. Ciel said nothing, only looked at him, but Elizabeth could feel the tension in the air, crackling like lightning. She collected the pieces of pistol on the remnants of her jacket— _Paula will have a fit,_  she thought numbly, staring at the ruined velvet—and then she began to fit it back together. It made her think of a time long ago, at the Phantomhive manor, when Ciel had made her take apart all of his pistols and fit them back together, because one couldn't understand how to use a thing if one didn't understand how it worked in the first place. The bullets weighed heavy in her lap. "Anyway, I'm surprised that you haven't figured it out yet, considering the boy's death."

Death. The word hit her like a punch. Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed for a moment before continuing her work. Above her, Ciel cleared his throat. "The Director holds the souls."

"But the girl is connected to the Director," said Spears absently. He sounded almost bored. "Or she was. She should not have survived her surgery, not by any human capabilities. There's magic in her blood, demon, or didn't you sniff that out the first time you saw her?"

Sebastian almost seemed to quiver with violence. He said nothing.

Spears stood, in a single fluid motion, as Elizabeth fit the bullets into her gun and slammed the chamber back into position. Standing as he was, ramrod straight, staring into the distance, he looked like an avenging angel, his staff held out at an angle, his hair fluttering in the sudden breeze that had picked up in this airless place. "She has his blood," he said, and there was almost a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he spoke. But there was disgust, too. "The girl is saturated with the blood of the Fallen. She's mixed blood, traipsing on the edge of death. The soulless hear her call stronger than anything else in their mindless world. She is their goddess, a queen of metal and angel and pure, bristling humanity. They will obey her until they fall to pieces, and even then they will dig their way along the ground in an effort to kiss her ruined corpse."

Ciel looked as though he'd been punched. Sebastian's lips curled up again, and he turned towards the crowd, a brilliantly vicious smile transforming his face. "Oh, Ramiel," he said, and the name dropped through the air like a stone, sending a ripple of power through the earth. She felt stones tremble under her knees. "Ramiel, you have learned from me."

There was no time left. Elizabeth stood, raised her gun, and fired one shot into the air. The blast made her ears ring, and around her, everything froze. The automata turned to look at them, and she stared back, daring them to move. The Director turned, and as his eyes found Sebastian's, she saw him tense and relax, all at once, as though he'd been shot through with a bolt of electricity. Felicity was the last to lift her head, and for the first time, drenched in blood and tears and smeared earth and smoke, she looked almost human. Her eyes met Elizabeth's, and then she looked down at Theodore again, and the automata bristled. They collected on either side of the Zodiac, creating a path. They stood then, mindless watchmen, waiting for a command. Even when Cutter screamed at them to attack, they did not budge. Beside him, Shirakawa stood still as stone. His dark eyes flicked to the Director.

The moment hung in the air, taut as a bowstring. Then Elizabeth lowered her weapon, took careful aim, and fired again. This time the bullet missed; it hit Cutter in the shoulder, not the heart like she'd intended, but the force of it still knocked him sideways. She turned the chamber, cocked the pistol, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

"That was for Colleen," she said, and then she put the gun on safety and slipped the wretched thing into her pocket.

The automata didn't move. Shirakawa did—he bolted forward, quicker than she'd ever imagined, but he wasn't aiming for her. He lunged for Ciel, and her heart contracted when her cousin dropped to the ground and snapped one leg out, trying to knock Shirakawa to the ground. Then there was another hint of movement, only a flicker, and Sebastian was gone. Ramiel had vanished too, and in the next instant there was a terrible crash and an echo of mad laughter. Spears was gone. The world was falling apart around her, and behind her the flames of the conductor's car blew heat at her skin. She saw Cutter stand, and bellow at one of the automata, but it did nothing. Felicity continued to cry, rocking back and forth over her brother's body. But for a moment, all was breathless silence.

One of the automata nearest her was holding onto her swords. She wasn't sure if that was by accident or by design, but when she reached out for them, it didn't protest. They felt right in her hands. Trembling from the weight of them, from the weight of the fury, Elizabeth sank down into a crouch, and waited. She didn't look away from him. Cutter stared, and horror widened his eyes into a deer's death gaze.

"This is from me," she said, and she lunged.


	39. His Partner, Steadfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood, violence, body horror, death.

Their waiting game was almost over with.

"Now," Grey said. He pulled off his gloves, and stuck his thumbnail between his teeth as he watched through the leaves, staring at the fight. Phipps kept his mouth pressed firmly shut, and his arms crossed tight across his chest. He had no comment on the situation. The light breeze was cold on the back of his neck. He thought of his jacket, left on the body of a dead girl, and then of the man they'd caught running towards her compartment, one of the Zodiac. The one fighting the Middleford girl. He'd stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of them, and then run away again. He wasn't even sure Grey had noticed the fellow.

"Phipps." Grey looked at him. "She's on her own. We should take her now."

Phipps gave him a look, and then peered over Grey's shoulder. They were all on their own, Phantomhive and Middleford and everyone, aside from the butler and the Director, who had disappeared into the flames. They were all distracted; he doubted that they would notice a rhinoceros charging through their midst, so focused were they on their own peculiar battles. In the wreckage of the train, flames erupted; Phantomhive’s butler seized the edge of a train car, and wrenched off a sheet of metal as long as the coal car, swinging it like a tremendous bat. Phipps looked at Grey again, and saw a glint of excitement in the younger man's eyes. Of course he'd be excited. There was little that made Grey happier than a job like this—a snatch-and-grab, right under the nose of Phantomhive and his pet dog, of all people. It was perfect.

Then Phipps looked down at his own hands, and went still. There was blood under his nails from the girl on the train. He hadn't thought to wipe them clean. He didn't do so now.

"Wait," Phipps said. Grey let out his breath slowly, a low hiss between his teeth, his eyes fixed on their target. "We'll need cover. We don't have any right now. If the Middleford girl sees us taking her, or the Zodiac, then we’ll have to fight, and she won’t want to come with us, after."

"I know that," Grey snapped. His hands tightened, though. Phipps was sure that Grey would give anything for a tangle with Ciel Phantomhive. "But we don't know if we'll get a better chance."

God, it seemed, was not on their side. There was a scream, and Middleford toppled. Phantomhive shouted. " _Lizzy_!" Then, perhaps worst of all, a short silence. Phipps looked out at the tangle, and then shoved his partner. There was a gun aiming right for them.

"Go. Go.  _Go_!"

They vanished into the wheat, and the bullet  _whish_ ed through the air, vanishing into the furrows.

* * *

 

Everything was chaos, and Ciel couldn't see. Blood was dripping into his eyes from a cut on his forehead, which stung and burned as he threw himself to the ground, tucking his arms and legs up into a roll to get as far out of Shirakawa's reach as possible. The man was a demon with a blade, and it was only because he'd managed to throw sand in the man's eyes that Ciel had been able to fight back at all. The stick he'd seized off the ground—sturdy, almost as tall as he was—was taking a royal beating. He needed a blade, he thought, spitting more blood out of his mouth. Shirakawa wasn't fencing, but swords were swords and metal would serve him better than wood for that next strike. The gun he'd been holding had long since been knocked out of his hand.

There was blood on the stick, he realized. Tacky and dry. He wondered whose it was.

He couldn't see Sebastian. There was a sense in the air, though, a prickling against his skin, a crackling on the edges of his mind that screamed  _battle_. In the sky, bursts of darkness clashed against each other, reverberating through the air. Out of the corner of his eye he sometimes caught flashes of blonde hair, of whirling skirts; Elizabeth was after Cutter and she wasn't going to stop until he died. He wasn't sure if the man was even fighting back, though it looked as though he might be. Then he snapped to attention again, and twisted his shoulder out of the way just in time as Shirakawa lunged, his long blade cutting the air with a curious hiss.

"Your fight is  _here_ ," Shirakawa spat, and Ciel's mouth quirked in spite of himself.

"If you say so," he snapped back, and Shirakawa's eyes narrowed with irritation. He lashed out again, and Ciel whipped around behind the tree; the blade caught in the wood, and without giving Shirakawa a chance to retrieve it, Ciel seized the nearest branch, heaved himself up, and slammed both feet into his opponent's chest. There was a sensation of caving underneath his heels, and a dull wet crack; Shirakawa stumbled back. _Collarbone,_  Ciel thought,  _or sternum_ , and he dropped to the ground again, seizing the other man's blade and wrenching it up out of the wood.

It was a lucky shot, though, and he knew it. Shirakawa's jaw tightened, and he lowered both hands, settling his weight on the balls of his feet, staying very still. It was something Ciel recognized from the teacher Lau had procured for him, but it was only visible for a second before Shirakawa had whipped one foot up off the ground into a roundhouse kick, and one of his shoes clipped Ciel in the jaw, knocking him sideways. He knew that move, he knew he did. Then it connected in his head, and he swore.  _Parker's teacher,_  he thought, wiping the blood and spit off his chin,  _Theodore Parker's damned teacher_ , and he tightened his hand on the handle of the curious sword, curved and strange as it was. It was heavier than the saber that his aunt had tried to shove into his hands; heavier than the foil that Lizzy had used to beat the snot out of him, so many months ago. It was a beautiful thing, though, elegant and engraved, and he could tell that Shirakawa wanted it back. Ciel spat again, and wondered if one of his teeth was looser than before.

_I hate swords._

There was a shout from Cutter, a scream from Elizabeth. Ciel looked around, and nearly whooped. Cutter was gurgling, blood bubbling around his lips. She'd pierced him right through, knocking his makeshift weapon aside with one hand—blood welled up around her fingers from the glass, running down her hand, her wrist, her sleeve—and driving her sword into his chest with the other. There was such a look on her face, fury and terror and _triumph_ , that it made Ciel pause.

Then the world exploded into stars. His hands loosened. Ciel hit the ground, and Shirakawa retrieved his blade, wiping the handle clean as though something had soiled it. The bastard sheathed it. Overhead there was another rippling burst of power. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the Director. Shirakawa placed his boot firmly against Ciel's throat, not pushing, just in warning, and then looked over Elizabeth's head, in a direction that Ciel couldn't see. At Felicity.

There was a long breath of silence, of a sudden lull in the crashes and the screams, and Ciel looked up at the stars. He had a blade in his sleeve, and he was halfway to having it out and in Shirakawa's leg before another boot slammed against his wrist, breaking it clean and sharp. He would have screamed, but the air was being cut out of his lungs.  _Stars_ , he thought, but there were no stars in this black world that the Director had made. He'd wanted to chase them as a boy, run after a falling star, catch it if he could. His father had always said it was impossible, but he'd never lost hope. Not until the fire, and the whippings, and the cage.

 _A fitting end to the Phantomhive family_ , he thought, looking up at Shirakawa again.  _Pierced through to the ground, like a bug on wax._

Shirakawa pushed harder. Ciel choked. He glared up at the man, and Shirakawa's mouth twisted.

He didn't say anything more. He just pressed down, and the black closed in.

_For one that has so little time, you have a perversely curious nature._

* * *

 

The roof of the coal car was burning hot against his cheek.

“Sebastian,” said Ramiel, and his voice was a croon. Sebastian drew a breath and spat out blood. It sputtered and hissed on the metal, and he could smell burning clothes, burning hair. Some of the flames had singed him. He rolled back onto his feet, and peeled off what remained of his gloves. They were torn, and smoking, the white cloth ruined irrevocably. His black fingernails seemed to melt perfectly into the darkness. “Sebastian,” said Ramiel again, and he landed at the other end of the coal car. He had black wings, tattered, skeletal, the feathers falling as fast as they regrew. None of the Fallen had true wings, not anymore. It was a miracle that Ramiel had any ability to unfurl his at all. “Why do you run from me, Sebastian? You _know_ what I want.”

Sebastian shook his sleeve over the back of his hand, and wiped his mouth. His power felt too tight, too hot, inside his skin. “How much power do you have, Ramiel?” he called. “How many of those souls did you consume?”

“None,” said Ramiel, and snapped his fingers. A crackle of black lightning snapped the air in two. Sebastian backhanded it, and it landed instead in a nearby tree, cracking it neatly apart. “None at all.”

“Ramiel.” Sebastian smiled. “I’m disappointed. I thought I taught you better than that.”  

The Director’s beautiful face—and he looked, Sebastian realized, like Felicity, like Theodore Parker, had he modeled his new looks after Olivia Parker?—twisted. The world rippled, and torqued. Sebastian bent, and seized the torn metal of the roof, peeling up a dagger-length strip. It burned deliciously against his skin. He could sense the young master, alive, breathing, in pain, fighting hard. He could smell their opponents, Shirakawa, the dead Cutter. He could smell Miss Elizabeth, sweat and terror. Ramiel overpowered them all, the sharp spices of soul-cutting, the twisted murk of a Fallen. He flipped the makeshift blade, and caught it between two fingers just as Ramiel gathered up fistfuls of reality and _threw_ them. _He hasn’t learned at all_ , but then, Ramiel had been fighting his _true_ form, his _real_ form, not this faux humanity, and now Sebastian was immortal but he was restricted by human blood and human bone and a single contract, and the Director had at least two contracted still living, Fotheringhay, Felicity Parker, and Shirakawa.

He had the souls.

“Tell me,” said Sebastian, and smacked aside another broiling ball of darkness. It exploded into something that seemed to be the antithesis of a star. “If you weren’t going to swallow them, why collect so many souls? What purpose does it have, Ramiel, my love?”

“Don’t _call me that_!” Ramiel shrieked, and in a flicker he was right before Sebastian, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. The world shattered. Sebastian felt ribs break and reseal in an instant, and he darted out of reach. They circled each other.

“You’ll see,” said Ramiel. “All those souls, and you. All together, it makes a splendid offering, don’t you think?”

Sebastian flung his dagger. Ramiel let it land, sinking deep into his flesh. He tore it free, and the metal shatterd between his fingers.

“Ramiel,” said Sebastian. An idea had bubbled to the surface. “Do you mean to tell me that all of this—all of the death, all of the cunning and the plotting and the trickery—all of it was some sick test for _God_?”

He hit the ground hard, ploughing deep into the dirt. Ramiel had his hands around Sebastian’s throat, tighter, tighter, but he could still breathe. Ramiel knew how far he could push. “Not a _test_ ,” Ramiel hissed, and his breath smelled like spices and death. “A _truth_. If I give him the souls—if I give him _you—_ ”

“Did you think,” said Sebastian, and a strange kind of delight burbled up inside him, “that if you gathered enough _good ones_ , enough _decent ones_ , that he’d take you back? That God _cares_?” He laughed, and Ramiel screeched, high and long and loud, and backhanded him. Sebastian’s face caved, and reassembled itself. Blood burbled on his lips. “Ramiel,” Sebastian said, and he flipped them, pinning Ramiel to earth. He tore off a wing, and Ramiel screamed. “Ramiel, darling, foolish, idiotic Ramiel, don’t you know?” He tore off the second wing, and flung it aside, and as Ramiel writhed beneath him, and the world began to pop in his ears, Sebastian leaned forward, and he whispered against Ramiel’s lips:

“ _God doesn’t exist._ ”

* * *

 

The world came back to her in bits and pieces, reassembling slowly, like stitches being drawn back together into a semblance of a pattern. Felicity wondered if she could tear them right back out again. After all, if there was no pattern, then there would be no logic. If there was no logic, there would be no reasoning, no reality, no emotion, and if there was no emotion, then there would be nothing left for her to feel.

Her fingers were sticky. She ran them through Theo's hair. She'd levered his head into her lap, somehow, though she couldn't remember how she'd managed that. He was still warm, and that was what frightened her the most, because even though she had one hand on his heart which was no longer beating, the other was still tangled in his hair, and his skin was still warm. He could have been sleeping, if it weren't for the stillness of his chest. The silence of him. It was what kept her from wondering if this had all been a dream.

"If I can't kill that monster I might as well take away his favorite toy," she said. It felt as though her father had a hand on the back of her neck, then, as though he was dragging her down from the grave. Who had been Ramiel's favorite toy?  _Me. Unquestionably_. Because he'd broken Theodore in two and thrown him aside without a thought, tried to take her away from her brother when she could finally dare to look him in the face again, when she was finally herself for the first time since her father had tried to kill her. For the first time, she'd run out of angel's blood, and the Director didn't know. He wouldn't be able to feed her more.

Another hand on her shoulder. The Director. She almost looked up, but then she remembered that the Director was across the field, lashing out with whips of power, and she kept her eyes on her hands.  _You are my child as much as if I had sired you myself,_  Ramiel had told her. He'd slit his wrists for her in her delirium, fed her his own blood to keep her alive, to keep Olivia's daughter alive.  _I did the same with your mother_ , he'd whispered to her in the night, when she'd been recovering so, so slowly, and burning with the fever of the blood.  _Before you were born, love. She asked me to. She wanted me to._

A lie. Or perhaps the truth. Too late to ask anyone now, too late to dig up her mother and beat a corpse around the head for answers. She tucked her fingers deeper into Theo's hair and looked up at the Director, at the demon that had dragged Ramiel down to earth. They were clashing again, not with blades or with hands or even with movement, but with power, sharp and crackling, that had leveled the wheat around them in a circle of decimation. Cutter lay sprawled on the ground on the edge of it, dead or very close to it; she thought she saw his chest rise and fall in a way that Theo's no longer could, and she fought the urge to get up and cover his mouth with both her hands, smother him for all his cruelty. For the lingering touches and the layered hints to his words that she hadn't cared about as Ramiel's puppet, that made her feel sick to her stomach when she remembered them. But she would not leave her brother—couldn't leave him, not after this—so she sat there and watched as his breathing slowed and stuttered and stopped.

Middleford—Elizabeth—Lizzy had gone to her cousin. She'd plunged a blade into Shirakawa, but in the wrong spot, and he'd whipped around and struck her in the head, knocking her to the ground again. Felicity thought she ought to get up, ought to try to save the girl her brother had loved, but she was too selfish for that. Besides, she didn't know how to ruin bodies the way Shirakawa did, the way he had to in order to prepare the Director's abominations, the ones that clustered about her right now, the things that she had helped create. Souls that she had helped steal. She felt sick again, and she leaned forward, resting her head on the wound she'd left in her brother's stomach, smelling the blood and trying to think. Through the buzzing in her ears, she heard Phantomhive shout, heard a clash of blades. She ignored it.

 _This_ , she thought.  _I did this. I did all of this._

Theodore had always kept a dagger in his boots. It was still there, and it felt heavy in her hand as she drew it free of the sheath, testing her thumb on the edge of it. It sliced cleanly through skin, and blood welled up at the touch. She looked at it, and wondered if she saw streaks of black. It looked like any other human blood. It looked like Theodore's blood, she thought, watching it drip off her finger and onto her brother's body. But it wasn't human. She wasn't human any longer, not really. There was angel in her, and she needed to get it out.

The blade was at her throat when a hand touched her wrist, and she looked up into the face of her cupboard butler.

"Hello, miss," he said, and before she realized it, the knife was gone. She could have taken it back from him, but she didn't want to fight. She didn't have the energy. She didn't have the will. Felicity looked at him, dully, studying his face. It was the butler from her cupboard, the one that the girl she'd been hiding in the angel blood had tried to save. Had managed to save, it seemed. Like the man in the basement, Phantomhive's cook. The good men she'd managed to save from Ramiel. She could still see this man's soul, hovering behind his eyes, the glint of gold and good burning in her throat. She licked her lips, slowly.

"Hello." Her voice was hoarse. She looked back down at Theodore, at his wide green eyes. "Are you going to let me die?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, and crouched beside her. He didn't touch her brother. If he had, she would have killed him, butler or no. Instead, he gestured to another man, standing behind him, and took a coat from him, putting it around her shoulders. It was still warm from human skin, and she realized then that she was cold. So terribly, terribly cold. "We're here to take you somewhere safe, Miss Parker."

"For what?"

She looked up at the Director again, at Ramiel. He'd seen the men around her, and his eyes had widened. Sebastian plunged a hand through the Director's belly, and squeezed. Ramiel wasn't going anywhere.  _Good_ , she thought, and the coldness of the thought made her shudder.  _I don't want him anywhere near Theodore._ The butler in the cupboard licked his lips, and cleared his throat. "You have something very important you can do for us, Miss."

"I'll not do anything for anyone," she said in reply, and looked down at Theodore. "Not ever again. None of it."

"Not even if you can help someone else, for once?" The butler pressed. She closed her eyes, clenched her fingers. Then she loosened them, because she was pulling Theo's hair.  _He won't like that_.

"You say that as though it's possible for something like me."

"Your blood has no bearing on your soul." The butler touched her shoulder, lightly. She opened her eyes and looked at him, and realized she was going to cry if he said anything else. If he kept looking at her like that, like she was a human being. "You're being crushed under the weight of your sins, Miss Parker, and no matter your heritage, your soul is too bright and too important for us to leave it this way."

Someone—the other man—laughed. Felicity ignored him. She looked down at Theodore again. Her brother, who had done everything in order to keep her safe. Now her brother was dead, and she really ought to follow him. All of this was her fault. All of it. She swallowed.

"I'm not important."

"On the contrary, Miss Parker." The butler put something in her hand. A vial. She barely recognized it. The antidote to the poison she'd laced into every mechanical spider, every scarab, every friend she'd ever made. The little creatures that had helped keep the girl inside her sane. It was empty. The scar on his hand was puckered, but sealed up again. Clean. Whole. "You are what we have come here to find."

Then something struck her hard on the back of the head, and she tumbled forward into darkness.

* * *

 

Sebastian wasn't going to win.

She could see it in the way they were moving, the angel and the demon, circling each other slowly. The blasts of power had slowed a bit since the Director had taken the first real blow, the gut wound that was leaking black blood and a horrid smell, but it would seal up soon enough. She was certain of that much. Lizzy knocked aside Shirakawa's next stroke, a side-swipe that would have worked out better if he hadn't been favoring his right arm, and kept an eye on her cousin's butler, on the demon that had saved her life. He looked like hell, even if he would never show it. There was a tightness around his mouth that Lizzy had recognized in her mother, sometimes, when Frances had been confronted with a battle she wasn't sure that she could win. She wasn't sure if Ciel had noticed, or if Ciel could even see it. After all, even with his training, he'd let Sebastian fight for him for so long that he wouldn't have picked up on such a subtle cue.

She hoped he didn't notice.

She snapped back to attention when a blade coasted along her arm. Shirakawa.  _Sloppy_ , she hissed at herself,  _stupid to get distracted_. The cut was smooth and clean, but it  _burned,_  and she wondered how sharp Shirakawa's blade had to have been in order to have parted skin so quick. Too much blood, she thought, to keep using that arm, and she tightened her left hand on the handle of her sword. The other she threw to Ciel. He almost didn't catch it, but it was more of a weapon than he'd had before, and he knew it. He inclined his head to her, and then blocked Shirakawa's next strike.

The man was ridiculously good.  _Frances_ -level good, or perhaps a shade shy of that. But a man with a hole in his belly—even if it hadn't pierced anything important—couldn't keep off two blades for more than a few minutes. Elizabeth looked down at her arm—bloody, but not useless, not yet—and lunged.

Their blades pierced Shirakawa at the same time. Ciel's went through the belly, driving deep into the gut, and she caught the whiff of bad blood as she stepped in close, watching her rapier coast through flesh and blood and tissue, and emerge on the other side of Shirakawa's neck. He looked at her, his eyes widening, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, and arterial spray spattered across her face. Then he closed his eyes, and she retreated, drawing her sword free, letting him fall. He was dead, she thought, the Zodiac were all dead. She could barely breathe.

 _I've killed three people_ , she thought, and she staggered to the side, her knees giving way again. She hit the ground, her sword clattering down beside her, and sat beside Shirakawa, watching the blood pump free. _Petrovsky. Cutter. Shirakawa. And Theodore_ , another voice whispered in the back of her head.  _Theodore died for you._

Blood on her hands.

"Elizabeth." Hands on her cheeks. Ciel. He tilted her head up, looked at her, his eyes flickering over her face. That eye of his was  _so_ queer, she thought, watching as the pentacle seal whirled and spun inside his eye. Bright pink. A color he never would have chosen, she was certain. "Lizzy."

"I'm fine." She wasn't, but she wasn't dead. At least she was still breathing. She swallowed hard, and nodded. "I'm fine." Her hands came up, brushed against Ciel's chest. It felt like a thousand years since that moment in the train compartment, his mouth on hers, her fingers clutching his collar. "You?"

"Fine." He didn't seem to believe her, though, because he looked at her arm and grew rather pale. "Lizzy—"

"It's  _fine_." It would make her dizzy soon, but for now, it could wait. She looked at him, and shuddered. They were on a battlefield, and even if they were both alive, this wasn't over. She touched his cheek, and then laced her hand into his. "Help me up," she said, and let him pull her to her feet. She let him keep her hand, too, because she needed the touch as much as he did. "Where's Sebastian?"

"There," Ciel said, and pointed. Flickers of motion spiraled through the air. She could barely see them, now, and couldn't tell them apart. Sebastian and Ramiel. She wondered what Sebastian's real name was, the one outside of Michaelis. The demon's name. They were so fast, shadows darting through the flames from the train, and when they met there were terrible cracks and spatters, blood hissing as it was vaporized in fire.

It happened before she realized it. The shield around them, the darkness that kept the sun out, buckled, and then expanded. Wind rushed through the bubble of time. There was a scream, a concussive blast, and Elizabeth was thrown off her feet by something that knocked her in the stomach and slammed her back into Ciel, who tumbled beneath her, his knees giving way. Ramiel was standing still, and he was a ruin, dark blood smeared across his face and caught between his teeth. His hands were clenched around Sebastian's throat, and he squeezed. Under her Ciel shouted, his hands twisting into her skirt. She'd never heard him so desperate. " _NO_!"

"Yes," Ramiel said, and his fingers tightened. Sebastian's face turned red, and then white. He couldn't move. Something was holding him still. She felt the terrible crush of power on her shoulders. Everything Ramiel had, everything Ramiel was, he was pressing it into this final assault, and Sebastian, wounded, drained, exhausted, did not quite have the strength to fight back.

In spite of everything, in spite of the knife at her throat and the terrible truths of the kitchen, Elizabeth screamed. "You're killing him!"

Ciel ran. He bolted up off the ground and he  _sprinted_ towards them, moving faster than she'd ever seen him run before, but before he could even come close, a whiplash of power had knocked him back into the hanging tree, and he slipped to the ground, eyes closed. Elizabeth screamed again, and another whip cracked across her face, slamming her to the earth. Her head spun, and her ears were ringing. Warmth leaked from her cut lip. There was a terrible guttural sound coming from Sebastian now, and blood was leaking from his eyes. Something in Ramiel's face was shining dark. Blood ran down his back. Before him, Sebastian was on his knees, pushed to the ground by the angel, and a smile was curling the Director's lips.

Before her was a gun. Her gun, the one that the automata had stolen from her, the one that had killed Petrovsky. Elizabeth closed her hand around it.

"We are finished," said the Director, and he looked up towards the moon. "It will finally be over."

Elizabeth raised Ciel's pistol, and fired.

The Director flinched. The bullet had clipped him in the head, a solid shot right to the temple, but all he did was flinch, as though a fly had landed there. A great terrible hole opened up in his skull, and blood, viscous and black, began to trickle through his hair. Still he didn't move; still he kept Sebastian in that crushing grip, until eyes began to pop and flesh began to darken. Elizabeth fired again, and again, hitting Ramiel's head, shoulders, chest, arms, until finally he turned to look at her, his eyes all black, his mouth wet with blood. " _What_?"

It seemed as though time had frozen. Elizabeth stood quite still, holding Ciel's gun up high, and there was nothing in the circle around her—not even the Charles had come to follow her. Finally, she lowered it. "I'm doing what needs to be done."

_If you truly love someone, you should understand._

_If you love someone_ , she realized, and she was an idiot for not seeing it before.  _If you love someone, you would never, ever hurt them. Not like this._

Ramiel looked at her for a very long moment. Then he turned and looked at Sebastian, and in his eyes, she saw horror flash. His fingers loosened.

Sebastian lunged. He snapped forward, and his hands covered Ramiel's face, fingers digging into the hole the bullet had left in his temple. Ramiel screamed. He  _shrieked_ , and the noise made her want to run. Hot blood pooled in her ears. Ramiel screamed and screamed, and he twisted viciously, trying to get away, but Sebastian was implacable. He was standing now, forcing the Director to his knees, and his bare fingers were digging so deep into the angel's skull that Elizabeth could see blood gushing out around his hands.  _He should be dead,_  she thought, and her stomach lurched and she was going to vomit, she was going to run, she was rooted to the spot as the Director flailed and thrashed, utter terror making him shout. Another language poured from his lips, strangely black, light and dark mixed, and Sebastian simply smiled.

Then he leaned down, and kissed Ramiel on the mouth.

She couldn't look away. Ramiel had frozen, his eyes wide; then they darkened, and his bloody hands fixed themselves in Sebastian's jacket, pushing and pulling him in turn, shoving him away and drawing him closer.  _I tempted him,_  Sebastian had said,  _I tempted him and he fell_ , and Elizabeth could see how it might have happened, could see what  _had_ happened, this same pushing and pulling, the desperate need, the treachery of feelings that one did not want, did not need, could not live without. Her whole body felt flushed, as though it had been slowly filled with boiling water. Beside her, Ciel stood very still, and his eyes were wide, the pupils dilating in the dark. Then he swallowed, hard. Licked his lips.

"Finish it," he said, and Sebastian's eyes were red as blood as he glanced at Ciel. Then he pulled Ramiel closer, and for the first time, the fallen angel began to fight. But it was too late. There was a dark light flickering around them now, and the scent of blood was flush in the air, along with a spicy smell that Elizabeth could not understand. She stood covered in blood and mud and sweat and pain and she watched as Sebastian cupped Ramiel's head in his hands, almost tenderly, and the clash of power made the hair stand up on her arms. It was the first time she'd seen anyone be kissed like that. It wasn't a kiss. It was a devouring.

Light flared, and the spicy scent grew stronger. At her feet, one of the soul containers shuddered, and jittered, and cracked open, and a glow about the size of a firefly flashed off into the night. Then there were dozens of them, scores, rising up around them, and like shooting stars, they vanished, spiraling over the wheat, disappearing into the darkness. Ramiel was growing thinner, fainter, but he had stopped fighting now, and his hands had come up to Sebastian's face, his bloody fingers leaving the slightest trace on the butler's cheek in a caress. Sebastian broke away, keeping very close, and he smiled.

"Thank you," Ramiel said, and in the instant before Ciel seized her around the waist and threw her to the ground, Elizabeth thought she saw a burnished bronze light pass from Ramiel's mouth to Sebastian's. And she thought she saw Ramiel smile.

The concussion of magic and air would have broken her apart had she been standing. As it was, she felt it slicing through the air, through the world, and she saw a rent in the air over her head, and in it was nothing. Not nothing, but Nothing, the crushing darkness of the End, and she heard Felicity scream and the sound whip away into nothing. Then Sebastian shouted a word, an endless peal of thunder, and with a boom, it vanished.

Suddenly there was silence. Silence and the beat of Ciel's heart under her ear, tremulous and rabbit fast. Elizabeth lifted her head to look at him, and he looked at her, and in spite of herself she felt a wobbly smile prickle at her lips.

"We're alive," Ciel said, and he looked at her. He was smiling, an honest to God smile that she hadn't seen since Soma's birthday party. They were alive. He was alive, she thought,  _alive_ , and he must have been thinking the same thing, because when she leaned forward he met her halfway. His hair was damp from sweat, and there was a cut inside his mouth from a blow from Shirakawa, but his lips were warm, and she wondered if this was how her aunt Rachel had become a Phantomhive, if this was how all the Phantomhive women fell for their men, in desperate kisses tasting of dirt and blood.

Theodore was dead, she thought, and beside them. Colleen was dead. Colleen was  _dead_ , and the tears welled in her eyes. Her blood had stopped rushing through her head, and the aches and pains were starting up. Her arm stung. Her wrists hurt. She could still taste the rotting blood of the automata on her lips. Ciel pulled away from her, kissed her cheek, her temple, and rested his head against her hair. She wrapped her arms tight around him and breathed, closing her eyes, waiting for the world to come crashing down on their heads. It was over. The Zodiac were dead, gone. Ramiel had vanished. Whatever they were planning, it was done now. It was  _over._

She wanted to sob.

"My lord." It was Sebastian. Sebastian, streaked in blood and dirt, cuts sealing slowly, wounds gradually healing. She wasn't sure how long it would take. It was fascinating, though, and she stared as a cut on his cheek laced itself back into whole skin again, well and pale. He put a hand to his mouth, and spat. Something shiny and sharp landed on his glove—a bullet. She wondered where it had come from. Wondered if she had shot it. Without a word, he threw it away and stepped forward, bowing to Ciel.

Ciel kept his hold on Elizabeth, and she let him. "Go and check the train for survivors. Look for Colleen. We'll wait here," he added, when Sebastian looked ready to respond. "We won't move."

"Yes, my lord," said Sebastian. His eyes flickered over Elizabeth. The automata were gone, she realized, and had been gone for a while; there was no telling where they'd went, not now. "I will return soon."

Then he was gone, flickering through the wheat. Elizabeth pulled away from Ciel, hunting for her swords. They'd been knocked aside in the confusion. One had broken from Ramiel's whip of power. She collected the pieces, and wondered if it could be repaired.

A gloved hand covered hers. She looked up, and nearly punched Knox in the nose before she recognized him. Instead, she straightened, and stared. "You."

"Me," he said, and he looked a bit ashamed of himself. He put a hand behind his head. "Sorry for the wait."

She would have liked very much to slap him. But she didn't. Ciel hadn't noticed him yet, going around as he was and collecting the containers that had once held the souls of the men and women that Ramiel had destroyed; she let out a long slow breath. "You took Colleen."

"She's safe." Ronald Knox hesitated, and then his eyes flickered to the side. "I'm here for him."

She couldn't speak Theodore's name. Not with the ache so raw and sudden still. She swallowed hard, and then set the broken sword on a stone. "I want to watch."

"You don't—"

"I will watch," she repeated, and at the sound of her voice, Ciel looked up. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Knox, but he said nothing. After all, they were both alive. The reapers were only here for the dead, she thought. She and Ciel were safe. "And your partner will take the others. I'll not have someone carrying the souls of Theodore Parker and Colleen—"

She stopped. Knox supplied her answer. "Murray."

"The one who reaps Colleen Murray and Theodore Parker shouldn't carry the souls of the people who destroyed them," she said, and her voice broke at those words. Knox looked at her for a long moment, and then he nodded, and twisted his hand.

She couldn't quite describe the thing that leapt into being at Knox's fingertips. It looked mechanical, and deadly. Knox looked back at her, and pulled a cord, and a horrible sound, like an automobile engine, started up. It rolled forward, slowly, and her heart skipped a beat when it touched Theo's arm, because when it did, light sprang into the air, elegant spirals, and memories twirled around them. It was like a line of paintings, but brighter and sharper than anything done in ink or oil. Theodore. Felicity. Their parents. Ramiel.

"Elizabeth," someone said, and she saw herself turn, saw herself smile. Joy thrummed through the clearing. She saw Ciel shift uncomfortably, and ignored it. The tears were welling up, burning against her skin now.

"Theodore," she said, and she reached out, but the instant before she touched a memory—a reflection in the mirror, a silver spot on his chest—they all vanished. Knox was left standing alone, and his machine was gone. He looked at her, quietly. Then he leaned forward, and kissed her cheek. His lips were hot against her skin, drawing the life from her, the pain. When he pulled back, she touched the spot, lightly, confused.

"He loved you," he said, and smiled. "He'll be safe."

Elizabeth trembled. She took a breath, and closed her eyes. She couldn't look at the reaper anymore. "Thank you."

There was a rustle. When she opened her eyes again, Knox had vanished. Someone else was missing too. "Felicity," she said, and turned back to Ciel. "Ciel, she's gone."

Ciel's lips tightened. "She must have run off."

Without her brother's body? Elizabeth looked at Theodore, who was lying where Knox had left him, his eyes blessedly closed. She took a deep breath, and then crouched beside him, and set her fingertips very lightly against his cheek in a goodbye. Behind her, Ciel waited, shifting from foot to foot. Sebastian was still hiding away in the train, recovering without anyone to see. She turned, and looked up at her cousin. The boy she loved.

"I want to wait," she said, and for the first time her voice shook. "I don't want to leave him out here alone."

Ciel looked at her. She looked back at him. His right eye troubled her. She could see the magic sparking in it, and she knew what it meant. But for this moment, it did not matter. After a breath, he took her hand, barely able to meet her eyes. His fingers were tentative around hers, as though he was afraid she might pull away. Then they tightened, and she squeezed back until her bones ached.

They stood and watched as the sky lightened, the world brightened, and the smoke was whipped away in a sudden rush of clean, fresh air.

They were alive, and the whole world was there to witness it.


	40. Her Life, In The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paradise Lost is in the public domain. I do not own the below quote.

_Long is the way,  
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light.  
_ ~ John Milton,  _Paradise Lost_

Elizabeth had never thought the Queen would be so small.

She had only ever seen Queen Victoria once, at a distance, when she had been about six years old. There had not been nearly so many wrinkles on Victoria's face, nor had her hair been quite so white. Now, Victoria looked like a child's doll, tiny and fragile as a snakeskin. Her eyes were alive, though, eerily so, dark and flickering. Her shoulders hunched the slightest bit, as though she was carrying a great weight on her shoulders. Maybe she was. Behind her stood a man in dark glasses that Elizabeth thought she might recognize from somewhere. She couldn't quite remember where. She sank into a deep curtsy, and didn't lift her head. "Your Majesty."

"Elizabeth Middleford." There was a rustle of skirts. "You are welcome here."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." She rather thought the Queen would tell her to rise by now, but there was nothing. Maybe Victoria was testing how long she was willing to comply to an order. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Fencing and curtsy practice had made her knees quite strong; she would be able to hold this position for a while. Still, she ached from the Orient Express, and she really would rather not kowtow to the woman who let others claim the responsibility for the blood on her tiny hands.

"It's the Phantomhive cousin!" The voice was vaguely familiar. It reminded her of sweat and fencing halls, a foil in her hand. Silver flickered in the corner of her eye. A nobleman, pale as a knife, swept her a bow. "Don't you remember me, little love? You used to pretend you could whip me with a blade."

In spite of herself, Elizabeth straightened. She'd seen this man before. The Queen sniffed, but didn't say much of anything about it, so Lizzy stayed standing. "Charles Grey?"

He took her hand and bowed over it. His glove felt silky on her skin. "I haven't spoken to you in a while, Miss Middleford. Not since that Easter a few years ago. It seems that you've been a busy bee."

"One likes to be." She glanced at the Queen. "I wasn't aware you were working for Her Majesty."

He waved a hand, but Victoria had caught his eye, and he said nothing else. The Queen cleared her throat, and Lizzy snapped back to attention, her hands fisting in her skirt. "I wished to congratulate you, my dear, on your part in bringing the Watchdog's investigation to a close. Earl Phantomhive led me to believe you had a great deal of influence over the case."

 _Ciel, what did you say?_ Her heart twisted at that thought. She cleared her throat. "It depends on what one means by influence, Your Majesty," she said, and bobbed down into a curtsy again. "I simply assisted as best I could, considering my training and my…previous position."

"Your engagement," Victoria offered. Lizzy nodded, but she didn't comment. It was clear that Victoria was waiting for something else, some confirmation, perhaps, of a recreation of the engagement that had nearly destroyed her, but Lizzy had nothing to say. No matter what had happened between her and Ciel, she was very clear on one thing: her life was her own, now, to do with as she wished, and not to be used to please the woman who had ruined the life of not only her cousin, but all of the Watchdogs who had come before him. She would not accede to the command of the woman who demanded that other women remain in chains.

Finally, Victoria sniffed. She glanced at Charles Grey. "Earl Grey, would you retrieve that box for me, please, the one I set aside on my desk. Thank you," she added needlessly, because Grey had turned before she'd even finished her sentence. Behind her, the man in dark glasses stood silently, but there was a contemplative smile playing around his lips. Grey swept down into a bow as he offered the box, and Victoria took it without a word, opening it. She glanced at Elizabeth. "If you could kneel down, please, my dear. I have something for you."

Elizabeth complied. She swept her hair off her neck as well, and held the curls in one hand, trying to fight back the memory of Ciel's fingers in her hair, his lips on hers, as the Queen rested the pendant around her neck. It was hung on black velvet, soft against the sore skin of her throat; the charm itself was heavy, and reminded her of her father's medals of honor. She pinched it between her fingers and studied it, carefully. Deep purple amethyst glinted at her from the silver setting, engraved with a crest she had never seen before: crossed sabers, tied together with a string and encircled by a line of gold. She looked up at the Queen again, startled.

"For her work," the Queen said, lifting an unsheathed blade, "in ridding our empire of those who conspired towards its destruction, and for her collaboration with the Earl Phantomhive in eliminating this threat, we hereby proclaim that from this date forthwith, Miss Elizabeth Middleford shall be known as a Knight of the Realm, and therefore be addressed as such."

The cold blade touched the cloth on her shoulders, once, twice. Elizabeth couldn't breathe. She was trembling. She looked up at the Queen, squeezing the pendant so hard that the silver was cutting into her palm. "Your Majesty?"

"Rise, Lady Middleford," Victoria said, and, numb, Elizabeth obeyed. She stared at the ceremonial blade in the Queen's hands, and wondered if what had just happened was real. She was a knight. She was a real knight, an honest-to-goodness knight with a real title, and it was something that not even her mother had ever achieved.

The only thing she could think was:  _what does the Queen want from me now?_

"I apologize for the lack of ceremony, my dear, but it's something that would…ruffle feathers." Victoria sniffed. "At the same time, however, it's the least I could do. In fact, it was suggested."

Elizabeth licked her lips. "P-Pardon me, Your Majesty, but who…?"

"Well, I did, of course," Charles Grey said, and his smile was wicked and cruel. "After all, it's what you've always wanted, isn't it? Lady Knight." He laughed. "All hail the Queen's Paladin!"

"Be quiet, Grey," Victoria snapped. Grey shut up, but the mischievous grin didn't leave his face. Elizabeth felt as though she'd been punched. "I do apologize, Lady Middleford, but I've another appointment to get to. Brown will show you out." She gestured to the man in dark glasses. "There's a carriage waiting for you at the gate."

"No, I—" Lizzy swallowed. "I can find my own way, Your Majesty." She curtsied again, so deep she felt her knees quake, and made herself say it. "I can't thank you enough, Your Majesty. I can't thank you enough."

"I believe you'll find that our situations are actually reversed," said Victoria, and then she swept out of the room, Grey and Brown at her heels. At the door, Grey turned, and grinned at her again.

"Oh, and don't worry about the Parker girl, Lady Knight." He winked. "She's in the most excellent hands."

Then he vanished. Elizabeth wanted to run at him, to throw a blade in his face, but he was gone and there was a maid behind her, whispering something about showing her back to the entrance hall. So she shook her hair back, fixed her new pendant of office, and followed.

She kept her back straight and her head tall until she reached the carriage, whereupon she had a fit of hysterics, barely smothered by a handkerchief.

The crest—her new crest—weighed heavy around her neck.

* * *

 

It was a few days after her knighting by the Empress of the British Empire when Lau showed up at her door. Her mother's new maid, a sour, pale-faced woman by the name of Greyhaven, showed him in without a word, but the way she sniffed when she announced his name said everything that Elizabeth needed to know about her. She made a mental note to discuss the woman with her mother at the nearest possible opportunity.

Emily was twisted tight around her neck again. The viper's head brushed lightly against her ear. After they'd been brought back to England—first to the nearest city by a frightened looking farmer and his cart, then to the hospital to have Ciel's wrist set and her cuts sewn up by a professional, and then to Calais and the boats by a once-again unflappable Sebastian—and returned to the Phantomhive estate, Snake had promptly set his viper on her again, and Lizzy couldn't get the damn thing to leave her alone. Emily was becoming more of a comfort, now, than a spy; she reached up to her throat and scratched the snake on the top of her triangle head as Lau heaved the box he was carrying through the door, setting it on her father's desk without preamble. He lifted an eyebrow at the sight of the viper, but didn't comment. "I hear that I am to congratulate you, Lady Middleford. A knight of the realm, now, is it?"

The new title still rang strange in her ears. Though Sebastian slipped, sometimes, because he knew who she would have been, most of the world still called her  _Miss_ Middleford. The daughter of a marquis did not a lady make. But now she was a knight, and since no one felt comfortable calling her  _Sir_ Middleford, especially when there were two others in her family… Lizzy shook her head a bit. She played with the key at her throat. "If the majority rules."

"Really?" Lau smiled. "I would have thought it was your dream, little miss."

She didn't respond. Her eyes flickered to the box, but she didn't ask about that, either. She was simply too tired to deal with Lau right now, too exhausted by the machinations of the world. Under the bandages, her bruises and her breaks ached. The cut on her shoulder was pulsing with her heartbeat. She didn't have the energy for this. "Why are you here, Lau?"

"Oh,  _so_ impolite." He  _tsked_  at her, and then ran his hands over the lid of the box, thoughtfully. "I would have brought Ran Mao to say hello—she's quite interested in you, by the way—but I thought she might not be let in through the door."

"Any guest of yours will always be let in, Lau," she said, gently, and he gave her a sharp, considering look. For once in her life, for once in their strange little relationship of give-and-take, she'd surprised him, and he wasn't sure what to make of her quiet acceptance of his mockery. Then he smiled, and again, for the first time, it looked almost real.

"That she'll appreciate."

Elizabeth shook her head a bit, not in a rejection, but in an effort to get the cobwebs out of her skull. "So, what have you brought me that you don't want to show Ciel?"

"It's not for the little lordling, though I do appreciate your willingness to keep him out of it." He even put his hands together a few times, in a mockery of applause, before he touched the box again, lightly, lovingly, as though caressing a lover. "No, my dear little knight, this is a gift for you, and it's something that I have been holding on to for a fairly long time."

Lizzy blinked. At her throat, Emily hissed. "A gift for me?"

"That it is." He held out a hand, keeping out of striking range. "If I might have the key, little knight, I'd be more than willing to show you."

She didn't move. "Why all the mystery then, Lau? Why try to con me out of a favor?"

"Oh, you holding onto the key was part of my favor, though the rest isn't… _quite_ complete yet." He smiled. "You see, I had to keep this safe for a long time, and what better place to hide it than with its intended? Besides, I've quite a few locks that that key opens, and you, an oh-so-esteemed knight of the realm keeping it safe for me…well, that's the clotted cream on the scone, don't you think?"

She scowled. Still, she shifted Emily—cautiously, since the snake seemed to be in a bad mood this morning—and then unlocked the chain from around her neck, offering it to Lau without another word. He took it, his fingers just barely grazing hers, and then he was slipping it into a lock hidden beneath a panel, turning it carefully. There was a rusty click, and then the lid popped open, and he stepped back as though waiting for something to escape. Elizabeth looked at him, waiting, but he gestured, and she pushed the lid back herself.

Papers. There were books, handwritten, and sketchbooks as well, but it was mostly papers. Letters wrapped in ribbon. Old documents, maps and sketches. At the very top there was a letter addressed to her, in a handwriting she barely recognized. When she opened it, and saw the signature at the bottom, it felt as though someone had scraped her heart out of her chest. "Aunt Rachel?"

"Your cousin is not the first Phantomhive I've had dealings with, little knight," said Lau, and his voice was almost gentle. "Your aunt was…very kind to me at a time when most Englishmen were willing to ignore me completely. When she asked me to keep this for you…well, I couldn't resist."

"Keep this—for me?" She wanted to paw through it all, dump the papers on the floor and sit like a child, scraping through it, reading every word. But she couldn't quite move, couldn't look at the letter lying open in her hand. There was another letter, too, for Ciel, but that could be left for later. "You're serious?"

"As serious as I can ever be!" Lau said lightly, and laughed. He flicked his fingers at her. "Go on, go on, read. I'll wait right here. I  _can_ be patient, you know. Just…keep the snake away," he added, somewhat uneasily, and Emily hissed at him one last time.

Lizzy hushed the viper, settling her around her throat again, and then sat down hard in her chair before beginning to read.

_My dearest Lizzy,_

_I write this as I sit in the garden, watching the roses bloom. The first opened only a few days ago, and the bushes are already becoming a riot of color. The yellow ones are the last in bud, but I think they will be quite beautiful. If you and your mother are not too busy, I shall invite you both out to see them when the time comes._

_There is so much that I long to say to you, dear. You're so small now. You and Ciel are inseparable still, though you are eight and he is seven, and I hope that it will always be that way. As young as he is, my little love, I can tell he takes after my husband more than he does me, and there's a streak of sadness in the Phantomhive line that they all succumb to, eventually. You are so bright, my love, so bright and free; I hope you can keep him from falling to it entirely._

_I write this in the hope that someday you might understand, my darling. I have a deep sick feeling inside me that something is going to happen, and even if nothing does, I hope that one day, at least, I will be able to give you this letter in person, and we will be able to talk about it as extensively as I would like. Still, I fear I do not have that much time. I am not as well as I would like to think. I am both joyful and fearful, for reasons that I have told no one, should not be telling you. Indeed, you are too young for all this, and I am afraid that to give you this letter now will place too big a burden upon you. So I will entrust it to a dear friend of mine, and I trust him to seek you out when the time is right, if it becomes necessary for him to do so._

_I harken back to a long tradition in the lives of the Phantomhive women, in writing this letter for you. I received a letter like it from your grandmother, as she did from my great-aunt; we are all related somehow, and there are things in the life of a Watchdog's wife that cannot be understood by anyone other than the next woman in the line, the next brace for the man who cleans up the messes of the royals._

_It's a hard life, my little love, and it's a cruel one. It's not a life my mother would have chosen for me, and I know, in my heart, that Frances would have rather you never have to live this life either. But sometimes fate is thrust upon us, my dearest Lizzy, and there is little we can do about it. I do hope, in the years to come, that you will come to love my son, as dearly and devotedly as I love my husband. It's something that I can only hope for, the happiness of you two, especially considering the darkness with which we live; there's a terrible, overwhelming chance that I will not live to see it. But I can hope, as we women have always hoped, for the joy of our children. For what else does a mother long for, than to see her babies happy?_

_You have laughter, my dear, which will save him in his darkest times. You have heart, which will serve you well. But most of all, my dearest, dearest niece, you have strength, and that will serve as a ballast for the two of you in the black times to come._

_It's a hard thing that I must ask of you. It's something that I ought not say. It's not something to place on anyone, the soul of another human being. But you are the only hope I have that he will not fade, and I place that hope squarely on your shoulders. As unfair as it may be, and as hopeless as it may seem at times, it's all that I can do. Your mother and I will do our best to train you for the times to come, but that is all we can do._

_I entrust Ciel to you, my love. I have faith that you will protect him, that you will love him, that you will save him. I know you can. I know you will. And I do believe this, in my heart of hearts—I do believe that he knows you will, too._

_I must away. Vincent is calling._

_All of my love to you, dearest girl. I wish you all the luck and all the happiness in the world. Remember: No matter what happens to me, I will always be with you._

_Most affectionately,_

_Your aunt, Rachel_

She was crying. She could feel the sobs building in her chest, like a gathering storm. Lizzy folded the letter, carefully, with shaking hands, and settled it back in its envelope. She looked at Lau, and even though the tears were pouring down her face, he didn't look away.

"She wants me to save him, Lau," she said, and there was no question as to who  _she_ was. There was no question as to who she had to save. "She wants me to save him, but I don't know if I can. You know what he's done. You know what—what he's promised. You know who he works with."

"Yes," Lau said. His eyes were suspiciously wet as he looked at her, and Lizzy remembered, for the first time in a long time, that he'd been around when she was growing up, too. He'd been a part of her childhood, just as much as her aunts had been. Not nearly as frequently, or as devotedly, but he had been there. "Yes, I do."

"Then how can I  _save_ him?" She wailed, and her voice broke. "I can't save him if saving him will destroy me. That's not fair of her to ask. That's not  _fair_."

Lau hesitated. His hands clenched into fists by his sides. Then he came around the desk, and Lizzy looked up at him, desperate, hoping for answers. He set his hands on her shoulders, and then, light as a kiss, leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I think," he said, his voice soft and whispering, "I think that you already have, my dear. I think that you save him, every day of your life. You've already done it."

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. Lau pulled away, pressing his lips against the top of her head; then she heard the door shut, and she was alone.

Lizzy pulled her knees up to her chest, and hid her face as she sobbed.

* * *

 

Recovering came in patches. She had very bad days where all she wanted to do was curl up in bed, stare at the wall, and sleep. She had no desire to do anything; she didn't want to write letters, she didn't want to dance, she didn't want to read, and she most certainly didn't want to see anyone in Society. Since she was injured again, her mother had no desire to make her.

Their relationship had changed since she'd insisted on going off to help Ciel end it; it wasn't the knighting, or the titles given to her by the Queen, but rather a newfound sense of camaraderie, of respect, that hadn't been there before. She could talk to Frances now, she realized, after one late night of sitting in her mother's drawing room and talking with her. Not just about the Orient Express, and everything she'd done with Ciel—including the kiss—but about anything and everything. Things she'd never been able to tell her mother before. Things she'd never  _dreamed_ of telling Frances before. She showed her some of Rachel's papers, as well. (She kept the letter private, though, hidden in the secret panel behind the head of her bed. That was something she would always keep to herself.) She told her about Colleen's fate, and about Felicity—that the Queen had Felicity, and was having her do who knew what. She told her about the Zodiac, and heard that Nathaniel Fotheringhay—the only survivor, she reveled, that pretty-faced boy with the smile on his lips—had gone to the continent. "Some say," Frances said, "that he's gone to recover. That his mind's been affected. Personally, I just think he's a bloody coward."

Sometimes she cried, and Frances stroked her hair until she stopped.

When she asked why her mother was being so patient when she was being so ridiculous, Frances had simply looked at her. "War is hard, love," she'd said. "And no matter what anyone says, you've been through a war."

Despite it all, she couldn't help thinking, one night after her mother had left, that Ciel had no mother to help him through his war. And that made her cry again.

God, she hated crying.

One night she asked her mother something that she'd been turning over in her mind for months now, something that she'd only ever voiced aloud to Lau, obliquely. She turned to Frances. "Mama."

"Mm?"

"Is it wrong to love Ciel?"

Her mother paused in her embroidery, but she didn't look up for a long time. Finally, she put her sewing down. "Do you think it's wrong?"

"I don't know," Lizzy replied. "I think it might be bad for me. I think…I think he makes me sad."

Frances stayed quiet. Lizzy kept talking. "He makes me so angry, Mama, and he makes me cry, but when I'm with him, I can't…I can't stop loving him. And I don't think that it's healthy. I don't think that it's right. But I can't…" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't think I can stay away."

"Does he make you happy?" Frances asked, and there was a curious quirk to her voice that snagged Lizzy's attention. Not enough to hold it. She was working through the thoughts that had tumbled inside her for months, and couldn't focus on anything but them.

"He does. But he's…he's so terribly sad, Mama. He's alone. And I want…" She struggled over the words. "I want to save him, but I don't know if I can. Aunt Rachel thought I could, but I don't think…" She slanted a glance at her mother. "He's tried to keep me out of it, Mama. He broke my heart to keep me away, but I couldn't. And now I think there might be something wrong with me."

"There is  _nothing_  wrong with you," Frances said, and her voice was so low and fierce that Elizabeth stopped. There were tears in her mother's eyes, she realized, real tears, and without thinking about it she reached forward and took Frances' hands in her own, squeezing hard. "Nothing.  _Nothing_. You are a good, kind, strong, beautiful girl. You are  _my_ good and kind and strong and beautiful girl. There is  _nothing_ wrong with you."

She wanted to cry. But she was done with crying. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and said, "But there is something wrong with Ciel."

Frances was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "He's...Ciel is a good man, or could be. But he's…very like his father. He's like Vincent. The job he has, the darkness he faces…it leeches into him. It could swallow him whole. It could destroy him, and if you stay with him, it could destroy you."

"I know."

"Will you stay with him?" Frances asked. Her eyes fixed on Lizzy's. "Are you going to stay with him, my dear?"

Lizzy shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know if I can. If I try, I…"  _I don't think I'll survive_. "I don't want to be destroyed," she said. "But I don't want to lose him, either. I don't…I don't know what to do, Mama. Tell me what to do."

"This is your choice, my love," said Frances, and even though it was frustrating, Lizzy knew she was right. "If it were up to me, I would keep you away. I would send you to Wales, or to America like Fotheringhay, and make you change your name. I would keep you safe the way I've always wanted you to do. Damn duty," she said, her voice suddenly vicious, and Lizzy's eyes grew as round as pennies. "Damn everything. I don't want you destroyed. But you're a woman now. And I can't decide this for you, Elizabeth. You have to decide."

"My friends died because of this," Lizzy said. "Because of this job. Colleen and Theodore, they're both dead. If I run away now, that would…that would dishonor them. Shame them. And if I work with Ciel, I can do good, real good. I can save people. But I don't know if I can save him, even though I…"

"Even though you love him," Frances finished, and Elizabeth closed her eyes and nodded. Frances pulled her into a hug, and Lizzy tightened her arms around her mother's waist, not crying, just breathing.

"Oh, my girl," Frances whispered, and stroked Lizzy's hair. "Oh, my girl."

That was one of the harder nights. Things grew easier, the more she talked. It was as though she was lancing a boil, an infection deep in her gut, and with all the infection spilling free, the weight on her shoulders seemed to ease. Soma was still staying at the Middleford house, and his presence made her smile. He was too silly not to cheer her up. Stephen Fotheringhay had recovered enough to come and visit her, and it became her habit to visit the Phantomhive estate every afternoon on Beatrice, and to talk about books with him.

Ciel was still in London, playing the lordling. It was the only reason she felt comfortable going. She wasn't ready to see him yet.

She returned home one afternoon to find that Soma and her brother had conspired to invite Rebecca Beddor to the estate, and that, perhaps more astonishingly, Rebecca had come. The long, awkward pause had been broken by Rebecca bursting into tears and flinging her arms around Elizabeth, squeezing so hard that she nearly popped a few stitches. It had taken a good two hours and a great deal of tea before Rebecca had finally calmed down, and Elizabeth invited her to stay the night, which delighted her father. After all, it was the first time Elizabeth had had a real female friend, her own age, from the right branch of society.

She kept the clothes that had been designed for Colleen at the bottom of her closet, and every so often she opened the drawer and stroked the cloth, fighting back a smile. But also tears.

Rebecca and Stephen took to each other right away. They'd met before, Elizabeth was certain, on the night of Rebecca's birthday party, but not since, and she wondered if she might have a career as a matchmaker. Like Emma, from the Jane Austen novel. Considering Emma's mistakes, though, she might have to consider a different life path.

She was healing, slowly.

Rebecca was the one to bring her the pages. She'd come to visit again, for the fourth time in one week, and brought the mail up with her, as was becoming her custom. The handwriting on the envelope had made her stomach drop through the floor; the blood left her face. Rebecca called for a maid, but Elizabeth had already seized the note from Theodore and ripped the envelope open, dumping the papers out onto her lap.

One scrap of paper in English. Not even a full sheet. Just a few words. She opened it, and devoured it with her eyes.

_I trust you'll keep these copies safe. The originals are gone up in flames. Be safe, darling._

_Damn you, Theodore_ , she thought at him, shakily.  _Damn you. Why am I always the safehouse?_

Copies. Copies of what? But she only had to look at the script, and she knew. The Sanskrit papers, the ones that Theodore had been translating. The ones that Stephen's mother had told her about.

She was on her feet and shouting for Soma before Rebecca could even take her pulse.

"It's a legend," Soma said a few hours later, once he'd finally puzzled through the last of the anachronistic grammar and strange spellings. "Of a man who lost his soul to a monster. It's a bit unclear as to the how," he added, laughing uncomfortably, because she was sitting so close to him that she could feel his body heat, and she hadn't taken her eyes off him since he'd started work. "But it…it details something interesting. It tells the tale of how the man went on a quest to…well, win his soul back."

"How?" Lizzy said, and her voice was so low and hoarse that she sounded ill. Soma looked at her queerly.

"Are you quite all right, Lizzy?"

She waved that off. "How, Soma?"

"Through trials. They have to be taken willingly, according to the pages. They have to be of the man's own free will. Though why someone wouldn't want their soul back—"

"What trials!"

"They're different for each person, Elizabeth!" Soma stared at her. "Are you all right? You're scaring me."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"I'm  _fine_!" she snapped, and she took the papers from him, staring at the words she couldn't read. Out of all the languages she'd studied, why couldn't she have ignored society's gossip and have Soma teach her Sanskrit? "Soma, how does he do it?"

He looked at her for a very long time, but finally, he licked his lips. "There's a ceremony. It's all detailed. But, Lizzy, this is impossible. It's ridiculous. It says something about needing the help of a—of a death-god, for goodness' sake, and that's only for the first trial. It's not possible. Why are you so—"

"It doesn't matter." She took a long breath, let it out. She felt like she was trembling. She  _was_ trembling. Rebecca took her hand, squeezed it hard. A death-god. A reaper. That couldn't be all there was. And Ciel had to do it willingly. That…that was impossible, right now, she was sure. Sebastian was too important to him. Their deal was too important. She folded the papers, reverently, and steadied herself. "I'm sorry. This is just…this is something I've been waiting for. Do you mind writing a full translation of it for me? I apologize for acting so strange."

She hadn't fooled him. She could see it in his eyes. But when she offered the papers again, he took them, and nodded. "Of course."

There was a clue. It was something so small it could have been missed, but there was a clue. And Theodore had given it to her.

It took her a moment to think of it. Still, the question slipped out before she could stop herself. "What happened to the demon?"

Soma looked at her, his eyes wide. "Well, it died, of course."

"I see." Something in her quivered. Elizabeth stood, sharply. "Excuse me. I have to…I have a headache."

It took a few hours. She thought about it, over and over again, twisting and turning it, looking from every angle. But there was only one place she could go, really, only one place she dared go.

She would have to wait. She couldn't tell him now. Ciel. He wouldn't believe her, first off. Secondly, he needed Sebastian. She could tell he needed Sebastian. She was certain that not even Ciel knew quite why. And Sebastian… Sebastian needed Ciel, and she wasn't sure if it was just because of the deal. She'd seen humanity in Sebastian, she knew she had. She'd  _seen_ it. She didn't think the bond they had was something that was purely demonic, no matter what the Undertaker said. As much as she hated Sebastian for destroying her cousin, for betraying her trust, there was something in her that had broken at the thought of him dying, something that had driven her to empty her gun into the Director's head at the thought of him gone. And Sebastian…

He'd saved her. In the  _Campania._ He'd saved her during the Orient Express, during everything they'd gone through to destroy the Zodiac. He'd saved Ciel more times than she could count. And for those rescues, each and every one of them, she owed him a debt. She would not repay that debt with murder.

She took a deep breath, and lay down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She would have to wait. Listen, and watch. Try to find some other way. She had a way to save Ciel, now. She knew she did.

And maybe, if she did it right, she wouldn't be saving just Ciel, after all.

* * *

 

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she lifted the door knocker and let it fall against the wood. The smells of London weighed heavy around her, smoke and oil and salt and trash. The smog that always rolled in with the misty tide twisted around her like tentacles, and left her sneezing. She'd forgotten, in the weeks since she'd been here, how much she hated London. Why she'd offered to come here to meet him, she would never quite understand. But still, she had, and when Sebastian opened the door, she didn't hesitate to duck inside.

"He's in the library, Lady Middleford," Sebastian said. He looked just the same. Perfectly groomed, as always. She didn't let him take her coat.

"I'll only be here for a moment." She hesitated, and then offered him the small box she'd brought. "A few cakes. For Finny."

"I'll be sure to deliver them."

She crouched down on the floor, touched her hand to the carpet. Emily twined tight around her neck in a goodbye squeeze, and then slid away down the hall, vanishing into the kitchen where she was sure Snake lurked. Then she stood again, straightened the lapels of her coat, and marched up the stairs to the library door.

She opened it without knocking. Ciel looked up, and closed his book. His wrist was bound up in bandages and plaster, his arm hung in a sling, and she wondered how long it would be before he could take it off. He looked ridiculously grouchy about it, though his face went smooth and blank when he met her eyes, as though he was trying to hide something from her. "Elizabeth."

"Ciel," she said, and closed the door behind her. She carried her new rapier parasol, a concoction of black lace and muslin that matched her mourning skirts. Lizzy tilted her head at him, studying him. The bruises had faded, but the cuts remained. "You look better."

"You look worse," he said, bluntly, and she couldn't help it. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"I suppose I do," she said, lightly. The letter from Rachel Phantomhive lay heavy in her pocket. "But then, I've had a lot to think about."

"So have I," he replied, and he set his book down and stood. He was as tall as she was, now. She wore her flat shoes, and so did he, and they were still eye to eye. He came around the desk, and leaned his hips against it, watching her carefully. He looked like a housecat, circling a vole that might fight back. "What have you been thinking about?"

"Us, mostly." It was refreshing, this directness. She'd never had the guts for it before. Non-confrontational, matter-of-fact. Simply speaking the truth without any expectations of it coming in return. "What will happen now."

"And what conclusions have you come to?"

"I don't know if I can save you, Ciel," she said. Something dark flickered in his uncovered eye, and he looked away. But Lizzy reached out, and with both hands, untied the eyepatch, letting it drop away to the floor. She placed her palm on his cheek and studied his eye, the contract, the agreement that had damned him, and she didn't look away.

"I think," she said, "that someday, you might destroy me."

He looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. She lifted her other hand, pressed it to his jaw, so she had his face cupped in her palms and she could feel his shaky breath against her lips. She traced his cheekbone with her thumb. "I've been thinking about it very long and hard, and I really think you might."

"Not on purpose." He stared at her, his eyes flicking just a bit, trying to find some emotion in her face. "Never on purpose, Lizzy."

"I know." She leaned forward, and pressed a feather-kiss to the corner of his mouth. He let out a short, shaky breath. "I know. Never on purpose. But you see, it's in you now, the darkness, and I don't know if I can save you from it."

His hands were trembling as he set them lightly on her hips, holding her close to him, keeping her still. She let her hands slide down to his chest, and she put her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Ink and paper and blood. The blood, she thought, was just imaginary. But she could still smell it nonetheless.

"I don't know if I can save you from it," she said again. "It might kill me to try."

His voice was husky against her ear. "I wouldn't let it kill you."

"You might not have a choice."

"I'd never let you die. Not if I can stop it."

"I know."

"I don't want you in this, Lizzy. I've told you from the beginning. I don't care what happens to me. I don't want you in this. I don't want you ruined by this. By what I do." He hesitated, so long she thought he might not say it, and then his voice went lower, and his arms went tight around her waist. "I don't want to destroy you any more than you want to be destroyed."

"There are no guarantees, then," she said, and pulled a little bit away, so she could look him in the face again, so she could see his mismatched eyes. "But there never are guarantees in anything."

If it was possible for elation and devastation to coexist in one expression, it was the face Ciel wore now. "You're staying?"

"Not immediately." She hesitated. "I need time to myself. I need space to heal again."

He nodded. He understood the war as well as her mother did. "Where will you be going?"

"Do you know, I'm not sure," she said, and for some reason it made her smile. "Places I've never been to before. Perhaps I'll go to India. I did promise Paula I would."

"For how long?"

"As long as I need to be gone." She paused again. "You're really all right?"

"I've been through worse," he said, and it dug a knife into her heart to know that yes, he had been through worse, and no, he had not had anyone to help him through it. Elizabeth took a deep breath, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck for a moment. Her arms went tight around him, and she clung to him, and he to her, and for once she didn't feel like crying. She felt like soaring.

Then she kissed his cheek, and pulled away. "I'll write."

She turned.

"Wait," Ciel said, and he snagged her wrist in his good hand. "The last time you were here, you forgot something. You don't have to keep it if you don't want it. It's just…something you ought to have. For good, this time," he added, and she hadn't seen him nervous in years. What on earth—

He set something in her hand, curled her fingers over it before she could see what it was. He looked at her for a moment, and his mouth quirked up at the corner. Ciel Phantomhive lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, light and lingering. "I  _will_  see you again, Elizabeth. That I promise you."

She felt herself blush, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't quite speak. Ciel released her and left, closing the door gently behind him, and it was only once she'd steadied her breathing again that Elizabeth could open her hand and see what he'd given her.

The diamond and sapphire engagement ring rested, light as a kiss, against her palm.

_Something you ought to have. For good, this time._

With trembling fingers, she laced it onto her necklace, tucked it and the key under her collar, and pressed a hand to her heart.

She stood there, shaking hard, for a very long time. And when she finally left, she left the letter his mother had written for him on his desk.

* * *

 

Sebastian showed her out. He was very quiet, though she could see a hint of a smile around his mouth; she wondered if he could tell, if he could see what Ciel had given her, or not. She didn't know anything about demons. It was something she ought to change, she thought absently, as she walked down the main path towards the street. If she was going to do anything,  _try_ anything, she really ought to know more about demons.

It was only at the edge of the carriage that Elizabeth gathered up the courage to speak. "Sebastian."

He bowed to her. "Lady Middleford."

"If I asked, would you make a contract with me?"

His eyes flashed red. Sebastian gave her a very long and level look, considering. Elizabeth stood very still, staring back at him. She'd seen this man commit sacrilege and murder. She'd watched him for years now, saving her cousin and destroying him, all at once, and she didn't know what she could do to stop it. The Sanskrit papers in her desk seemed to claw at the inside of her mind, a solution, a chance. But still she waited, and finally Sebastian smiled.

"No," he said. "No, I wouldn't, Lady Elizabeth. But I rather think that the dear departed Ramiel would have."

If he'd punched her in the face, he couldn't have hurt her more. Elizabeth took a ragged breath, and stared at him. Fought back the urge to slap him. "And what on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"He would have said something, I'm certain of it." Sebastian reached out, and set his index finger against her sternum, light as a moth. The touch made her tremble. "Your soul is so very bright, my lady. No matter how dark your life grows, no matter how battered it becomes, your soul never stops glowing. It's almost as though you have an angel's hand on you."

She stared at him. Sebastian retracted his hand, placed it against his chest, and bowed. Then he walked away, and she was left to clamber into the carriage on her own, and think about what he'd said.

Come to think of it, the Director had said something. The very first time she'd met him. He'd looked at her so strangely, focused on her so hard, that she'd been terrified she'd been found out. But he'd called her  _interesting_. _"It's faint, but…"_   _It's almost as though you have an angel's hand on you._

There was only one person she could think of that would do that.

"Aunt Rachel?" she whispered, and waited. The carriage rattled around her. There was no answer. Elizabeth cleared her throat. Tears filled her eyes. She let out a breath. "Aunt Rachel, are you there?"

There was nothing obvious. Perhaps she felt a bit calmer. Perhaps there was a rush of warmth, but that could have been her imagination. The smell of violets, too, was something she could wish into life. But despite her better judgment, she swore that she felt a hand brush against her cheek, an arm around her shoulder. There was a soft whisper in her ear.

_No matter what happens to me, I will always be with you. Both of you._

And then she was gone. The warmth faded. She could taste just a trace of violets on the air.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, leaned against the seat, and smiled.

* * *

 

"Have you seen enough?"

Colleen straightened. It felt very strange to be watching the goings-on of London from above. She sat on the roof of the Phantomhive townhouse, one knee drawn up to her chest, the other foot dangling out into space. Her hair had been cropped short, as per reaper regulation, and her new suit—with pants, of all newfangled notions—was crisp and clean. Dirt never seemed to stick on it. She didn't ever smell, either, and that was a right godsend. It even made up for her having to wear specs, now. She glanced at Ronald Knox, tilting her head to one side. Her gloves itched on her hands.

"Not really," she said, and turned to watch as Lady Toff's carriage rolled away down the street. "It's all right if I keep an eye on them, yeah?"

"Keep an eye on the Lady Middleford, you mean," Knox corrected, and Colleen punched him in the shoulder, hard. She didn't look away from the carriage. "Damn you, woman, don't hit me."

"Then don't be smart with me, fancy boy." She waited until the carriage was out of sight, and then rolled back to her feet, stretching her arms high over her head. The notebook was hot in her pocket. "New name."

"I'm the teacher here, trainee, don't forget that." Still, Knox was grinning like an idiot as he watched her, and Colleen wondered if that was normal, for reapers. All the stories she'd heard about them when she'd been a kid, no reaper had ever grinned like that.

"Then teach," she snapped back. He reached out, and tapped her lightly under the chin.

"Yes, sir, ma'am."

They left before the demon could sense them. Colleen did not look back.


End file.
